Remember An Najaf
by Wildweasel
Summary: As Mac and Stella are thinking about taking a new step towards each other, an invisible enemy strikes their backs in a deadly game and left them stranded. SMacked, D/L, Team friendship...Angst/Hurt/Comfort/Romance.
1. The best view in New York City

**A/N:** This is going to be a short story, and I will update regularly, though I'm not forgetting _Darkness closing in_, this one will be updated as well.

As always, this story will fit in diverse category, so I'll stick with the main romance/drama, though angst will be thoroughly present and comfort as well.

This story hasn't been beta-ed, so all mistakes are mine.

**Summary:** As Mac and Stella are thinking about taking a new step towards each other, an invisible enemy strikes their backs in a deadly game and left them stranded. SMacked, D/L, Team friendship...Angst/Hurt/Comfort/Romance.

**Disclaimer:** I don't own anything, beside the characters I created for this story. CSI NY belongs to CBS and Jerry Bruckeimer.

* * *

A light smile grazed his lips as he watched his partner cracked an eye open as he pulled over on the 47th. With sleep still feeling her frail shape, she stirred in the passenger seat as if it was all too natural to wake up in her boss' car. Mac glanced at Stella, a small smile tugged at his lips at her childish move. Since he had come to know her, not a day had passed without her making him smile one way or another, and when she wasn't smiling, then he took seriously the charge of giving her back the good she made him feel.

"Let's get down to business, sleeping beauty," teased Mac as he watched with delight his partner shooting him a dark stare. She hated early morning, and he knew that, but even if he had never enjoyed waking her, he had to admit that he liked starting a day with her by his side. Maybe it was the fact that in other cases it would mean waking up alone in a cold bed, but somehow, he liked to think it was just because of her smile in the early hours of the day. His own smile widened. Her smile could erase all his worries in a matter of seconds, though this morning she was more inclined to grumble in her side, but he didn't mind anyway, as long as she was with him, it was a good day.

He jumped off the car, and circled the black SUV to stand beside her as she took her time to get out. A small grunt escaped her lips as the chilling early morning made her quiver.

"When are we going to have a decent morning? It's not like the vic could fly away anytime soon." Stella huffed as she raised the lapel of her black blazer to protect her neck from the cold, blowing wind, and tightened her purple scarf. "I hate those killers who can't have the decency to kill by day."

Mac smirked as he pulled out his kit from the trunk, and headed into the building in front of them.

Then, he turned with a small chuckle. "You comin'? Or should I wait for a more decent hour to have my partner by my side," he teased again, a big grin spread over his face.

Her eyes set quietly on her partner clad in his favorite, dark suit, his kit in hand, and wondered how, with all the lack of sleep he was currently keeping he was still able to make fun of this whole situation. Sure, he too, didn't like to be called at 3:30 in the morning, though she wondered sometimes if it wasn't all his life, and that small thought was enough to make her sad. No one should have to wait to be called early in the morning to have a meaning in his life, especially him. She tightened her lips, remembering that he wasn't like that before he lost Claire, not that he was leaving his job sooner. No. But yet, there was some morning when he happened to arrive late, though she had never tried to push to know why. She smirked, she already knew why, and as her friend, she was happy for him. But 9/11 happened, and with it, it's full pack of sorrow, grief and despair for a country and for her friend. The whole city of New York was still filled with those depressing feelings since that fateful day. No matter what you wanted to trick yourself into and make yourself believe that it was long gone, in the New Yorkers' mind, it would always remain like yesterday, and it was the same for Mac. She bit her lower lip, hoping that one day he would find that same happiness he had with Claire.

Following the line of the silver building to the rosy, morning sky far over her, she uttered a small ethnic curse as she grabbed her own kit and followed Mac inside the building. He greeted her with a guilty smile almost ashamed of being the reason why she was up so early.

"You know, if you need some time off, we can break the team, and you can take a shift later." He spoke softly as they entered the lift and he pressed on the roof button. Even though he liked to be with her, he didn't want her to drain herself too much. She had to go on, she had a life, not like him having only his work to go on, he cursed mentally.

_What?_ She couldn't believe that he'd just proposed her to break their team. She glanced nervously at her partner and noticed for the first time this morning, a small crease appearing on his face. Was he worried about her and her sleeping time?

"Nah, I'm fine, Mac. Besides I wouldn't want you to run by yourself in those crime scenes without me for backup." She nudged his side playfully. Her mood improving by minutes with his constant, reassuring presence.

He shot her a boyish grin. "I'm quite capable of taking care of myself, thank you."

"Well, that I'm sure. Just don't forget your debt." She reminded him, her eyes glancing at the ceiling, getting ready for his reply.

He chuckled. "I'm not gonna pass on this one, right?"

"Never," she answered, her eyes sparkling in anticipation of her reward. "Well, you did promise me dinner in the nicest restaurant that this city can offer."

His eyes sparkled as he entered the game. "Yes I did," he admitted. "Though it was before I learned you already got the answer of that screening test we had bet on it." He paused watching her as she took an offended look but didn't reply. "What you did, is called cheating in my world." He finally struck with a wide grin. _Mac 1, Stella 0._

She took a look as if she was hurt by his words. "What I did, was gathering data on a case, Mac. You came up with this bet, remember?"

He laughed. "Sure, just after you set the discussion for me to fall in your trap. Nice play by the way."

"Thank you."

"See," he smirked, his hand pointing at her. "You're admitting you set me up."

"Haven't, Mac." She answered, her eyes sparkling at their childish argument. She, in fact, had planned their talk, but had never expected Mac to raise the stakes with a dinner. She cursed mentally. If only she had known that sooner, she would have made a move to get that dinner invitation sooner. Though her mind was restlessly reminding her that it was just a small bet between two friends, nothing else. It wasn't as if he had planned a romantic date with her on purpose, though she was still caressing the idea of a romantic evening with him. Suddenly, she stopped her trail of thoughts as she realized her face was starting to blush in anticipation and her partner was giving her a suspicious look.

"Planning another set up?" he asked as he watched with delight as she turned toward him agape. _Checkmate. _

As she let silence coming from her mouth, the elevator's doors opened on a small lobby full of police officers, Flack standing in the middle. She swallowed lightly as her partner stepped into the room, a boyish grin of victory displayed on his face. How did he manage to get in her mind so clearly sometimes was beyond her understanding. But she wasn't about to let him win, not like that, and not with a dinner with him as a prize, no way.

"What ya got?" asked Mac to Don as he felt his partner joining him. He hid a small smile as he composed a professional face to work on their crime scene, though he couldn't suppress a small glance towards Stella as to praise his victory. She had set him up since the beginning, though he didn't mind really. Since Greece his mind had struggled with the idea of inviting her in a non professional meeting, but then, Jess' death, the attack on the team, the compass killer, and even Flack going AWOL had kept him busy and hindered him from having more time with her. He sighed, remembering how he could have lost her in this dusty condo if she hadn't avoided that spike falling from the ceiling. Hopefully, she had heard his scream of terror and had reacted on it. Once again, it had been a close call, but then, how many times would the things get close until one day, it was lethal? He looked at Flack, his friend a painful reminder of what happened when things were becoming lethal. He sighed, he, himself had already known that once, with Claire. His lips tightened as the evocation of her name left a burning mark in his mind. No he wasn't ready to give up on Stella, not yet.

Flack raised his sight from his notepad to greet his friends. The small lobby was bathed in a soft, orange light as the sunrays pierced through a giant veranda facing east.

"Stella, Mac, sorry for getting you up so early, but the vic had this attached to her neck, and I thought you would like to see it right away," he added as he showed them a small evidence bag.

"What is it?" wondered Mac, his attention fully back to the case ahead, as Don handed him a piece of paper sealed in a plastic bag. Putting his kitnext to him, Mac slipped his right hand in a white glove and did the same with the other. Then, he delicately grabbed the plastic bag Don was still holding before him and Stella, and opened it. Carefully, he pulled out the paper, and stared at the white sheet smeared with blood. As he turned the paper between his gloved fingers, a name appeared carved in crimson letters: MAC TAYLOR. _What the..._

Stella quivered as her partner's face remained impassive although she knew that he was fighting with himself. His name on their DOA meant only one thing, the killer, who ever he was, was trying to get Mac's attention, and that only, was enough to make him feel guilty. So not only, the killer was taking lives, he was also trying to change Mac's life into hell. She clenched her fists by her side as her mind began to list all the possible suspects that wanted to take revenge on him, fear for her partner slowly creeping up in her mind.

"Where's the vic?" Mac's voice echoed in the room.

"DOA's on the roof, and it's not pretty, Mac." Don grimaced.

Mac's brows furrowed deeper as he silently asked Don to take the lead. Who ever wanted his full attention had it now. He followed Don to a narrow stairway, his kit back on his side, and Stella quietly on his tail. He sighed knowing the nature of her silence, she was worried, and he couldn't blame her. With this case, he doubted he would have the time to fulfill his promise to her once again. He glanced over his shoulder and caught a shy smile on her lips as she saw him looking at her. Whatever happened with this case, he promised himself that he would make it up to her, he was fed up of delaying the time he wanted to be with her. No, he would find a way this time.

As Stella and Mac exited on a narrow, concrete pathcircling the roof, they were greeted by the chilling wind stronger at thirty five story. Stella suppressed another shiver as she followed Mac on the ladder. Fifteen feet up and later, they were both standing on an empty roof in the middle of Manhattan. She sighed, if they hadn't been on a case she would have lingered on the beautiful view of the city waking up into the arms of a sweet, rosy dawn. But she was on the job, and this case was touching her closely as it was bearing the mark of death for her partner.

"This way," shouted Don as his voice tried to overcome the powerful wind and pointed at a small cabin at the far end of the roof. "He left the body on it."

"What?" questioned Stella. The body was on top of that little cabin. She widened her eyes. The thing was small and built in steel panel, probably an old exit for ventilation, she deduced as she hurried behind Mac who was already passing the yellow tape that Don was lifting for them. She bent too and followed her partner, her eyes never leaving the reassuring sight of his black suit cladding perfectly his back. As long as she would keep an eye on him, she would be able to help him, she had decided.

Mac took a deep breath as he reached the top of the cabin after climbing onto an improvised ladder. The wind was so strong that it was hard to keep his heart rate minimum, or was it his name in an evidence bag that was giving him the creep. Either way, his gut was twitching madly since he had set foot upon that roof, and the more he tried to ignore it, the more his mind was saying that something wasn't right, but what? He sighed, trying to relax his mind and focus on the vic, only his mind was still repeating the same two words: what next?

Giving up with his mental battle, he took a deep breath as he crouched near the victim and stared at the slashes carving the woman's body. Trails of blood had leaked from the body and had started to drip from the edge of the cabin like in a grotesque, horror movie. Mac's lips tightened as he pulled out his penlight from his pocket and examined the carved throat, his beam lighting the wounds. _Sharp instrument. _His beam continued to the woman's chest and belly. _There too, the wounds are deep, done with hate and anger,_ Mac noted. Then, he felt his partner standing awkwardly on the other side of the victim. The cabin's roof was small, once the victim had been displayed arms open, there was small room for more than two other persons to stand, even him had his heels dangerously playing with the void behind him. Fortunately, the cabin wasn't set on the edge of the roof, though the three yards that separated him from a real fall were still too small when you were on the 35th floor.

"Found somethin'?" Stella's voice asked, her eyes observing closely her partner to check how he was coping with his name on the vic.

He nodded, avoiding her stare. He already knew what she was thinking. This case was going to get tough on both of them, especially him, and she was probably trying to evaluate how much sleep he was ready to give up to catch that guy. He smirked. Well, she was right. First his name on the paper, and then that cruel death administered to this woman. He shook his head, he wasn't going to let that guy run free in the street while he would be sleeping. So before she could start to scold him another time about his need to sleep, he led the conversation on the case, prepared to ignore other comments she was going to imply along the way. "She was stabbed several times. The deep wounds, their irregularities, and the amount would suggest, he or she, took pleasure at stabbing the vic before her wrist and throat were slashed open. Damn it! He probably watched her slowly die while she was struggling in her own blood."

"Whoever has done that, is a pig." She concluded, as she crouched to be at his eye level. She gave him a quick glance, evaluating if it was the right time to ask if he was okay. She knew he wasn't, who would be with something so evil displayed before your eyes. But then, Mac wasn't a man to open up like that, especially on a public place, and since he kept avoiding her eyes, she guessed she had to swallow back her query to know if he was okay, and kept examining the victim.

_Yes, a pig,_ agreed Mac. Stella was right, whoever did this couldn't be called human. Then, his sight caught the sign of something weird with the display of the body. As the arms were spread apart the left hand was closed. Frowning, he carefully opened the clenched fingers and pulled another piece of folded paper from it. This time the piece had only the white from its origin as it was totally soaked in dark blood. Mac stood up, the evidence in hand, and an uneasy feeling running through his body.

His sight scanned the silver towers surrounding them, his jaw clenched as if he could feel the eyes of the killer upon him. He knew that they were being watched. The scene had been too neatly displayed in the middle of Manhanttan, surrounded by the most numerous towers and building that could have a good view on their crime scene. His gut twisted again, as he shot a glare at whoever could be observing them.

Then, his attention went back to the paper in his hand and he slowly unfolded the paper. It's with dread that he discovered what was written on it. His face lost its color as his sight crossed Stella's with fear sparkling his green, ocean eyes. _No!_ Warning screamed in his head as he realized why the scene had been set right here.

"Everybody out," he yelled as his hand went to Stella's back, trying to get her quickly out of the cabin. If he was right, death was upon them and they had no time to ponder their move. "Get out of the roof, now!" he shouted as the police officers who were still staring at him.

But then, his second warning seemed to reach their brains, as they started slowly to head for the exit. Don stared at Mac, trying to comprehend why he was asking that. His friend was standing up on the top of the cabin, veins protruding dangerously near his temples from the flushing anger that seemed to submerge him while he was pressing Stella to the ladder, and shielding her somehow.

Stella felt Mac's strong hand on the small of her back as he led her to the edge. "What..." she began, but her words remained stuck in her throat as a deep shot echoed through Manhattan's towers. She turned to watch with horror as Mac's right shoulder was jerked away by an invisible force, making him spin on himself, before he fell head first from the cabin, his feet finding nothing but air. "No...Mac," she screamed, trying to reach for his hand but too late as he disappeared from her vision. "Mac," her lonely voice broke the silence as everybody had gone quiet after the shot.

In one giant step she was on the other side of the cabin where Mac had fallen. Hopefully, the cabin wasn't built on the edge of the tower, and he couldn't have fallen more than ten feet down. Though her heart pounded madly in her chest as she bent to see where he was. The scene that greeted her was one she would never forget. Her partner had fallen head first about ten feet, and he was now lying on his back unmoving, the right side of his head slightly open by a bloody gash, his eyes blinking as he tried to remain conscious.

"Mac," she voiced as she bent over the edge, her fingers clinging at the edge as she turned her back to the void and let herself fall, only slowing her fall as her body remained clung at the wall, then she let it go. She felt the hard concrete meeting her high heels in a dull shock send back along her spine. But she had no time to complain, Mac needed her right now. As she bent over her wounded partner, she heard Don's voice to take cover as another shot whizzed at her ears and bit the ground near Mac, sending bits of concrete flying into the air. "Mac?" she called frantically as her hand went instantly to his face. Then his eyes settled on her as he blinked.

"Stell," he mumbled. "Get out."

Groaning, he rolled on his side to face the ground, panting as his vision was blurred and fuzzy. The world span around him when he tried to stand on his legs and failed miserably as he remained on his knees and left hand, his strength strangely gone. Before him, the roof was spinning in chaos, cops running to the exit as Mac spotted the form of an officer down in the middle of the place. Then, to his horror, Don rushed towards him. _No._ His mind screamed in pain.

"Fall back," he yelled with his remaining force, his left hand shoved the air before him as to order Don to get the hell out of there. Then, he fell Stella's hands on his back, as his strength chose to abandon him, and he slanted forward, his vision greying.

"Stella, Mac," yelled Don as he ran towards them, the terrible image of Jess' death printing before his eyes. "Mac!" He called again as he witnessed in shock his friend crumbling on the ground, but was cut short by a round of several shots right before him obliging him to step back. _Damn it! _His anger burning he felt a pair of arms pulling him backwards. He yelled at them to let him go. But they were stronger and he realized as he glanced over his shoulder that it was two of his men that were pulling him back.

"Sir, let's go," shot one of his officers. Then Don's eyes settled on the body of one of his men, fallen ten feet from him, a puddle of blood staining the concrete around him as his head had been blown off by a single shot. "Bastard!" he cursed. "Fall back," he screamed to his men, realizing that there must be more than one shooter to aim at them like that. He glanced back with pain at Mac and Stella now alone near the cabin, as his men were still pulling back at him. He prayed that his friends make it out alive somehow.

"Stell," mumbled Mac as he gave her a weak look, his eyelids weighing more with each minute.

"Mac, stayed with me," she yelled as she grabbed his left arm and wrapped it around her neck, and pulled him up. He grunted from her rough pulling, and she immediately felt his weight pressing heavily on her shoulders as his legs seemed unable to support him. Then she tried to walk but even with Mac trying awkwardly to stand on his legs, she wasn't able to make it more than a few feet as the two quickly crumbled under his weight.

The shots continued to whistle around her as she scanned anxiously her surroundings to find a shelter. The roof was empty, even the cops were deserting the place, pulling with them their fallen comrades as the shots echoed through the towers. Glancing over her shoulder, she realized their only way was the small cabin. Without even thinking about what she was doing, she tugged at Mac's vest and dragged him towards the cabin. She let him rest his back against the wall next to the cabin's door, his head sagging limply to his chest.

"Get out," he slurred as his vision darkened; hot, flaring pain was wrenching his right shoulder, and his head was beating loudly as he tried to raise his left hand but failed and let it drop limply by his side.

"Hold on, Mac," Stella yelled as she tried to open the door but the handle resisted to her grip, so she opted for pure strength, and taking a step back, she bumped her right shoulder into the metallic door, bullets denting at the metal near her head. _Hurry, Stella,_ her mind repeated, as her shoulder screamed in pain. After the third assaults the bolt broke and she stumbled on the ground, shots still ringing near her face. She bit her lips as one grazed at her right cheek, leaving a burning gash. _Mac._ Her mind yelled as she got up and went back to the entrance where she had left her wounded partner.

Then, as she grabbed his collar, he fell limply on his side, leaving a crimson mark on the wall. _Oh, God._ Her heart stopped in her chest as she bent over him. His eyes were opened, staring back at her with pain and covered with a thick haze. Then a new shot rang and this time she felt the burn exploded in her left arm as she was propulsed backward. Panting, she rolled on herself and kneeled next to Mac.

"...eave me here," she heard him mumbled as he raised an arm but then let it drop limply over his chest as if it was too much effort, his eyes almost closed.

"Never," she voiced in anger, more against the shooters than Mac as she took a tight hold on his jacket and dragged him inside the small cabin. His limp body left a trail of blood behind him as his boots scraped freely at the concrete. With a quick glance at his pale face, she headed for the door. Another shot passed an inch of her head as she tried to close it, though the hinges refused to move. But finally they gave up in a dying croak as she shut the door. Her energy spent, she crumbled on the floor, her eyes settling in fear on her partner's still form. "Mac?"

_**xxx**_

He watched with delight as the cops started to run in every direction, like ants after someone had kicked in their nest. Finally, after all those years, he was able to get his revenge. A wicked smile had spread over his lips as he had aimed at his enemy, choosing the best place to hurt him as the red cross had lingered over his head, then his gut, and had finally settled on his chest while he had pressed the trigger. No, surely he didn't want him to die too quickly. His enemy hadn't given that chances to his father, and he wasn't about to let Mac Taylor get away with a quick death. That's why he had opted for the chest. Wherever the bullet would end, it would be painful, and he would have time to see his partner's face calling him in vain before he dies. Though he hadn't planned on him taking a fall from the cabin. That went well, although it was unexpected. But hey, it was even better as his partner had managed to get them in that small shelter while he had played cat and mouse with her.

He smiled broadly. He had to admit that girl had some guts, rescuing her partner like that in the middle of a crossfire, well she had balls, that's for sure. He smiled, looking at his screens and typed a few commands.

Suddenly, several shots echoed on the quiet roof, like that he was sure the cops wouldn't forget him. He smiled wickedly, today was going to be his best day: his enemy was down and about to die in the next hours as he had no intention to let anyone rescue them. Yep, indeed, it was his best day ever.

_**xxx**_

Voices were shouting in the lobby as Sheldon entered the small room, Danny on his tail. It was like arriving in the middle of a battle field. Four police officers were lying on the ground while others were applying field dressings over simple wounds in arms or deep opened gut gushing blood. Seeing the mess, Sheldon ran immediately towards what appeared the most seriously wounded, while he heard Danny hurrying to Don.

"What the hell is goin' on?" the young CSI asked at the detective, his eyes scanning the place and noting with worries the cops moaning in pain.

Don shook his head in distress. "We got set up, Danny. And Mac and Stella are still up there."

"What?" voiced Danny as he rushed to the stairs to reach the roof. If his friends were up there then he had to go help them. But he was stopped in his course as he felt Don's strong hold gripped his arm. "What ya waitin' for?" screamed Danny as he pulled back to shove Don's, though his friend kept his hold on him.

"You can't go up there, Danny. Or you gonna get shot, and Mac wouldn't agree with that."

"I don't care I'm goin', they're my friends."

"They're mine too Danny," voiced Don, anger simmering through his words. "They're in a small shelter, and the path to reach them is through an open field. Can't go! Too dangerous! That's why we fell back." Don let go Danny's arm as he saw understanding dawning in the young CSI's eyes.

Danny shot his friend a furious stare. "Who ordered to fall back?" he growled in anger. "Who's that freakin' selfish bastard who left cops to die?" His hands closed into fists as he scanned the room, fuming about the one who had dared to abandon his friends.

"It was Mac, Danny," stated Don in a whisper. "He was the one to order us to get the hell outta there."

"And you let them? Alone?" Danny asked with more anger smoldering beneath his words as his eyes darted a scorn look at Don.

"I...I..." Don's voice trailed off as his eyes set on the floor in guilt, pain running through his mind at the thought of his friends left behind. "I..."

"We didn't give him the choice," voiced a police officer as he patted Don's shoulder. "The situation was hopeless. Shots were taken at everyone. It took us two men to pull that crazy Flack down," he said as he slapped gently Don's back.

Danny stared at Don with more respect. _No, he hadn't abandoned his friends. How could he?_ He shook his head, realizing how quick he had been to judge his friend while two others were waiting for help.

"We lost one of our friends up there," continued the cop. "It was hell and your boss knew we had to get the hell outta there before we had too many losses, even if it meant his own death."

A tight knot formed in Danny's throat as he listened to the cop talking about Mac.

The cop shook his head. "I heard a bunch of things about the Crime Lab and its boss, some gruesome and sordid, and others I thought were kinda too fancy and heroic to be true, but now I know." His eyes connected with Danny's, and the young CSI could see respect sparkling inside them. "You're boss, he's a real piece of work," he said, his head nodding. "If he hadn't warned us we'd have lost more men up there, and by ordering us to fall back, he saved even more. My buddies and I will stick here until your friends are out and safe, no matter what it takes for us. He saved our lives by giving that order, and we ain't gonna forget that. Right guys?" he turned toward the other cops who had carefully listened to their conversation. Silence had replaced the chaotic rumble as he had started to speak.

Danny watched impressed as the surviving cops were all shaking their heads in approval.

"Yeah, we're your backup and we'll follow your lead," continued the cop. "But goin' upthere without a plan is foolish, even suicidal I'd say, and I don't think your boss would have you to act like that, not after what he did."

Danny thought for a moment. What the cop had said was true, and surely Mac would get his ass if he was rushing up there without at least an idea of what he could expect. He tightened his fists, his rage boiling inside at the thought of remaining here while Mac and Stella needed help. Blood was rushing behind his temples as he battled with himself. Then, he finally nodded quietly. _What Mac will do?_ Danny asked himself. He huffed mentally, the hell, his boss would rush up there too, but the difference was that Mac had always a plan, even when it seemed that he was acting without preparing anything, he had a good idea of the situation, and right now, Danny had nothing. He sighed deeply, trying to contain his rage, as he realized that his only option was to wait for now. His eyes quickly scanned the cop's uniform, looking for a name tag to remember: Riley.

"So stay put, detective," continued Riley. "Cause your friends are gonna need you soon."

A deep sighed escaped Danny's lips. "Alright, I'm sorry, man," he said to Don. "And thanks for the help." He extended his hand and Riley squeezed it firmly.

"Like I said, detective, we all have friends up there." Then, Riley gave a small nod to Don and went back to take care of his wounded comrades.

Danny nodded silently, wondering how Mac and Stella were doing right now.

_**xxx**_

A deafening silence settled in the small cabin as Stella crouched near her unconscious partner. The shooting had stopped a few minutes ago, and it felt creepier since then as if they were preparing something else, though it was more likely that the best explanation was their lack of live targets to shoot at. But then, as if they had read her mind, a shot dented painfully at the small louver situated in the back of the cabin. She took a deep breath as she began to assess Mac's condition. He wasn't moving and his eyes were closed as if he was asleep, although the fresh blood oozing from the gash under his hairline painfully told her otherwise.

"Mac? Please, stay with me," she begged as she took her jacket off, quickly rolled it in a ball and delicately placed it under his head.

Taking her scarf off her neck, she swathed Mac's forehead with it, hoping to stop the bleeding from his profound gash. Then, with trembling hands, she began to unbutton his black suit. But her heart was beating too fast in fear of losing him, and it took her more than a minute to be able to open his vest and discovered the deep, wet hole going deep in his right shoulder. Blood had started to soak his dark, navy shirt, and she was sure that if he had chosen a light color today, she would have screamed in horror at the large, crimson stain soaking the fabric.

She took a deep breath as she unbuttoned his shirt too and watched in misery his white T-shirt clad to his chest, now a bloody red. "Mac? C'mon I know you can hear me." She called as her hand pressed on the wound to stop the bleeding, and a thin line of blood oozed from her fingers. Even if he was unconscious she couldn't resign herself at the worst. He had to be listening to her, and sooner or later he would regain consciousness, she prayed for it. Then, as her eyes quickly scanned the small cabin, she realized that besides repairing tools, buckets and several other stuff, there was nothing that could really help her stanch his wound. With a deep sigh, she resigned herself to hurt him a bit more. _Better now, than when he's gonna wake up._

Trying to be careful, but quick, she pulled on his left sleeve to take his suit off. A small grunt escaped his lips as she gently rolled him on his right side to get his left arm out as his head drooped to her knees. "Good, Mac," she praised. "Keep grunting." As long as he was grunting it meant that he was alive and still feeling his body, two evidences that she would never be thankful enough to remind her that he was still alive, still hanging on. Then, as his second arm was freed from the suit, she quickly discarded the vest on the side. Standing up, she rummaged through the tools to find what she needed, and with satisfaction, she came back with a cutter.

"It's for your own good, Mac," she whispered to him, as she started to rip his shirt, careful that the blade was always far from his chest at anytime, one of her hands still pressing heavily to stop the blood flow. Then, when she was done, and Mac lay with only his bloody, soaked T-shirt, she cut a small opening over the bloody, burned fabric, revealing the dark, crimson hole left by the round. It was wet and warmed by his blood, and still gushing a lot of dark blood. She bit her lower lip, trying to focus only on her task and not on the possibility of losing Mac. Then, taking a deep breath, she looked at him with pain, hoping his partner would forgive her, and she stuffed a small piece of his shirt into the wound, careful not to dislodge the round in the process. Mac mumbled a few grunts as his body was run by small tremors before his voice faded completely, and became a whisper, his body completely still. "Hold on, Mac," she whispered with remorse.

As she finished, she watched with satisfaction as she had stanched the blood flow. Totally, drained she sat on her feet next to Mac, watching with comfort as his chest was rising slowly in rhythm of his breath. For the time being, he was going to be okay, though she wasn't sure how long he could hold on. With care, she grabbed his jacket she had tossed aside and covered him with it. The sun wasn't shining yet, and the cabin was still too cold for her pleasure. As she tucked him in with his vest, she stared at his pale face torn in deep pain, and without thinking her hand cupped his cheek trying to reassure herself that he was still here. That she hadn't lost him this time. For a moment her thumb stroke his tensed cheek and she lingered in the comfort of his skin under her fingers.

Then, she pulled her iphone from her pocket, and dialed the only person that could help her to make sure that Mac was going to stay alright.

"Sheldon," her drained voice spoke on the phone.

"Stella, thank God you're alive. Danny and I, just arrived, we're in the lobby right now," he dropped with relief, drawing several heads in his direction as they recognized Stella's name. But his relief was shortened as she began to explain why she was calling.

"Mac had been shot, Sheldon I need your help. I stopped the bleeding but I'm not sure it worked and Mac is unconscious." Her voice trailed off, praying for good news as she let her hand cuddling Mac's cheek again, before she brought it back to her forehead with worries, leaving a crimson stain painting her face.

"Okay Stella. I'm all yours. Can you tell me his injuries?"

"Huh," she sighed, checking Mac's body again for any other wound she could have missed. "He's... huh, he's been shot in the right shoulder, and..."she struggled to say as her eyes wandered over his frail shape.

"Where exactly, Stell?" asked quickly Sheldon, his doctor mode quickly kicking in.

"Just under his shoulder blade I think."

"Is it close to his trachea or more in the crook of his shoulder, near his arm."

"Huh, it's between," answered Stella as her eyes scanned again his limp body, a deep frown creasing her face.

"Okay." She heard Sheldon's voice whispering something and then quick thanks were said, before he spoke again. "Stell, what was the color of the blood before you stanched it."

"Dark, almost black, Sheldon. That's not a good news right?" Her heart started to beat faster in her chest, waiting in dread for Sheldon's answer.

"Well it means the round probably went deep," he paused, probably trying to find a good answer not to panic her, she realized. _Too late for that_. Mac was down and unconscious, frankly she was already in panic mode. "But I think it might have avoided any artery and that's good news, Stell." He added, trying to reassure her as she had planned, but her eyes rested on the paleness of Mac's face. The ashen color wasn't to reassure her, and she prayed mentally for Sheldon to be right.

"Good. Good," she repeated to convince herself as she caressed Mac's cheek again setting the phone on speaker mode near him. "You heard him, Mac? You gonna be okay." She softly spoke, her heart swelling in pain as he didn't answer. "No reason to give up yet?" she added, swallowing back her fear. _No reason. _She closed her eyes, hoping that when she would open them she would wake up and realized it was all a the acrid smell of copper remained in the air as a deep print sinking madly into her mind to mark her for life by the blood of the man she cared, she loved, her mind admitted in sorrow.

And when she finally opened her eyes, his were still sadly closed. Gently, she stroked his face, her eyes lovingly following the line of his eyebrows and curves of his face.

"Stella, if you stopped the bleeding, I think he should be okay for now," replied Sheldon after her long pause, not sure his first answer had really reassured her.

She swallowed the knot in her throat. "He banged his head too, Sheldon, and I think, maybe it's why he's not waking up."

Then a loud rumbling echoed near the cabin and Stella recognized the sound of the air being whipped by a rotor. A helicopter was flying over them.

"Who did you send in that chopper?" she asked, surprise.

"It's not us, Stella," answered a worried Hawkes. "All our forces are on the ground searching through the different buildings to find the shooters."

"But who then?" she questioned as the sound became louder.

"I don't know..." his voice trailed off, as he turned toward a cop which whispered something in his ear. "Okay, put it on." He answered to the cop. "Hold on Stell."

On the other side, Stella cursed. What else could she do otherwise than wait anyway. But then, she began to hear voices talking loudly and some kind of TV in the background. Then, Sheldon's voice was heard again on the phone.

"It's the TV, Stella."

"Yeah, I heard you have the TV on, Sheldon, I don't see why..."

"No," he cut her off, softly. "The helicopter, it's the news. It's channel 4. I don't know how they know, but they're broadcasting in live the cabin where you guys are."

"Great," she complained "Can't have any privacy in this world, even when we're about to die."

"You're not going to die, Stell," Sheldon stated to comfort her.

"Yeah I know, though I'm really worried about Mac though. He hasn't opened an eye yet."

"Can you check his pupils for me, and tell me what you see." He asked with a soft voice, his doctor side kicking in.

Stella searched through her pocket and cursed._ Damn it!_ She had no light, all her tools had remained in her kit on the roof. Then, remembering Mac's suit, she rummaged through his pocket as she bent over him. The move sent a wave of his aftershave to her, and she felt a pinch at her heart when she expected him to tease her with a witty remark as she almost crouched on him, but his eyes remained desperately closed.

Then, she found his familiar penlight in the insight of his vest and quickly pressed on it. Gently, she left his eyelids, shaving the light in them. If she hadn't been in this predicament, searching for Mac's injuries, maybe she would have marveled at the sight of his eyes turning from a clear, ocean blue, into a crystal green depending of the angle of her light. She bit her bottom lip, a deep crease carving her forehead in worries as Mac hadn't even given her a grunt for what she had done on him, increasing her fears.

"Are they dilated?" asked Sheldon through the phone.

"Yes, they are," she finally whispered with pain. From the silence that followed her words, she knew that it wasn't good news.

"Listen, Stell, it might be nothing," began Sheldon. "But Mac might have a concussion, though I think he should wake up soon, but you're gonna have to watch for signs that clearly indicated head injury, okay. Like headache, nausea, numbness in the limbs or if he hears ringing."

Stella listened painfully as Sheldon was giving her the list of the troubles that could appear if or when Mac was waking up, and deeply, she prayed that none of those appeared, because it would only be signs of a worst scenario, and honestly she wasn't prepared for that. She wasn't ready to lose him.

_**xxx**_

"I want to know who's in charge of this mess?" growled the voice of Chief Sinclair as he stormed out of the elevator and tramped into the lobby. "Messer," his deep, baritone voice echoed as he had spotted Danny standing near a couple of officers. Their heads bent over a map automatically turned towards the voice and some of the men cringed when they realized who it was. "Where is Taylor? Why hadn't he called me yet to report about this?" he shaved the air with his arms, visibly pissed off, and ready to throw anybody to the lions, which in New York City meant to be lynched by a public mob.

Danny walked calmly toward the Chief, he had no time right now to deal with the Chief of the Detectives.

"Where is Taylor?" repeated angrily Sinclair. "I had to learn by the late report, damn it! By the press, that two of my detectives are stranded on the roof of this city. Where the hell is he?"

"Chief, it's Mac." Danny paused letting his words sank in the Chief's brain but as the man gave him a puzzled look, he spoke again. "Mac's on the roof," stated calmly Danny.

"What?... Mac?... How?" Sinclair asked, his voice lowering as he started to calm down. His eyes darted around him, and he finally noticed the blood covering the carpet under his feet. "Is that from the wounded officers?" He asked pointed at the dark, red stain on the fabric.

"Yes," answered Danny, his sight lost beyond the main window.

The Chief growled. "And where is Bonasera? If Mac is up there I bet she must be around." His sight circled around him, searching for golden hair shouting orders.

"With him," said sternly Danny as his eyes rolled to the ceiling pointing at the roof over them. "They're both trapped up there. And from what we know, Mac has been shot."

Anger vanished from the Chief's eyes as he took a serious look. _Shot._ This thing was even worse than what he had thought when his assistant had turned on his TV in his office, rambling about cops being shot and others stranded on a rooftop in the middle of Manhattan. Then, on the screen, the news reporter had clearly shown the images of the roof, the building he was right now. The Chief had then cursed at the images broadcast as even from high in the sky, his stomach had churned at the smear of blood and the deadly officer lay on the concrete.

How could they put that on TV when real people had died and others were on the verge of following the same path? His gut had twitched, disgusted as he had rushed out of his office, heading straight to this building. And to learn what? That he had lost one cop, had four wounded, well five with Mac now, and two stranded in the center of a crossfire. And it was only seven in the morning. He shook his head.

"What ya got Messer," he said as he took his jacket off. This was going to be a long day.

_...TBC

* * *

_

**A/N:** In the surge of all the last events in the SMacked world, I'd encourage every Smacked fans to have faith in our heroes. :)

As for this story I would enjoy to have your view of this first chapter. As I said, this is going to be a short story, so feel free to leave me a comment and as always I will get back to you.


	2. An Najaf

**A/N:** First, I wanted to thank you all for your great reviews and putting this story or myself in favs or alert. It's really Awesome. You guys rock!!!

Okay, so it's late, although I've proof read this a lot this week I hope it's okay, otherwise tell me what I could change it.

This story hasn't been beta-ed, so all mistakes are mine.

**Summary:** As Mac and Stella are thinking about taking a new step towards each other, an invisible enemy strikes their backs in a deadly game and left them stranded. Smacked, D/L, Team friendship...Angst/Hurt/Comfort/Romance,

**Disclaimer:** I don't own anything, beside the characters I created for this story. CSI NY belongs to CBS and Jerry Bruckeimer.

* * *

She looked sadly at Mac's face and her heart immediately sank further in pain. Since he had lost consciousness in front of the cabin, he hadn't woken up and it was really scaring her. Mac wasn't the kind of guy who would not fight, if he was still able to, therefore he had to be badly hurt not to have awoken yet. Swallowing back her fear, Stella slowly lifted the shred of his t-shirt, checking that he wasn't bleeding again. To her relief, she noticed that her improvised dressing was still intact, though some blood was still oozing from the fabric but it was a lot less than before.

She sighed deeply, carefully resting the torn t-shirt over the wound, and watching the slow rhythm of his chest rising up. Her anxiety still high, she softly caressed his face to convince herself that he was still there. Then, a weak smile grazed her lips as she wondered why she hadn't done that more often in the past. They were friends, and sometimes she even thought that they were more. Her sight lingered on his jaw line and the thin traces of blood marking his temple. She had tried to clean the wound, but she hadn't wanted to hurt him by pressing too much on the large bump appearing beneath his hairline, and therefore, his pale face was still smeared with crimson spots that pinched at her heart every time her eyes rested on them. Seeing him unconscious and so vulnerable was hard to swallow, even for her. Mac was a tough, stubborn cop that rarely let his emotions get in the way of his mission, though as his close friend, she was able toread when he wasn't alright. But right now, he had no defense, no brave face to pull for her, he was just Mac. She closed her eyes her thoughts drifting at what could have happened if he hadn't picked up her reluctantly this morning, he could have... her mind stopped at the dreadly thought. He would have been alone, she realized her heart beating too fast in her chest. _I'd almost lost him._ She took a deep breath, thanking who ever was in charge for not having let her take a day off today. She shook her head, she would never get pissed off by early morning from now on, not as long as he would be with her.

Suppressing a light shiver, she realized the early morning chill was colder in this place, though they were protected from the strong, gusts of wind blowing outside. But adrenaline was wearing off her body and the cold had somehow managed to crawl under her clothes, making her shivering more as the time passed. Spotting Mac's jacket discarded on the side, she touched his forehead and with worries found it cold too. If she was shivering, then, what about him after losing blood and without moving since she secured them in this place. She cursed, her palms meeting the cold ground that was finishing the job by sucking her warmth and Mac's from his limp body as well. _Not good. _

Quickly, she looked around, and biting her lips, she decided her priority was to keep her partner safe and warm until the team comes up with a solution. Right now, unable to move or act, it was better that she keeps him warm than anything else. So, grabbing his jacket, she lay next to his left side, and covered them both with the jacket. Then, she nestled closer to him, her body heat bringing him more warmth as her fingers entwined his cold, gloved hand, while her head rested over his good shoulder with a sigh. Although it was hard to see him so defenseless, a small smile tugged at the corner of her lips at the awkward situation that had brought them so close to each other, and in a way that she had always craved for. Then, she let out a weak sigh, cursing that right now, there was nothing more she could do to help them to get out. No. The only thing she could really do was keeping him warm and hope he would wake up by himself, especially after she had stripped him from his shirt and jacket, even if it was for a good cause.

But then, as her hands began to warm his cold fingers, she realized he was still wearing his gloves. She closed her eyes, of course he had. He had put them on in the lobby and with this mess she hadn't thought about removing them. Cuddling his left hand, she quickly removed the glove and crouched over him to reach his right hand, careful not to hurt his shoulder in the process. But then, she stopped, a frown creasing her forehead as she had found something in his palm, and pulled the glove out to be sure it wouldn't incommode him later. Curious at first, she brought the thing out of the improvised cover and frowned, glancing at Mac who was still, his chest rising slowly in rhythm of his breathing.

Looking closer at the object, she realized it was a piece of squashed paper, and she remembered now Mac picking up something before the shooting had started. Unfolding the paper she read with a questioning look the words written in bloody letters: remember An Najaf. A deeper frown crease her face, wondering what was An Najaf.

_**xxx**_

_Run, run_. His mind yelled. _C'mon, Mac, run._ Shrapnel exploded next to him as he took a sharp turn near a shred of wall and plunged to avoid a flak of bullets. The rounds bit at the sandy walls behind him in a cloud of dusty sand and scattered mold on top his desert helmet with small thuds. His breathing coming in rasps, he ducked his head further to avoid the small particles flying in the air, the hot, burning sand of the ground biting at his left cheek. His heart hammered in his chest, his blood rushing to his head in a furious flow as he raised on his hands and knees, breathing heavily. _I can't be back, this isn't real._ His left hand went mechanically to thrust further his helmet on his head, and he resumed his wild run to the nearest barack. He rushed inside without stopping at the threshold as the bullets were still following close behind him, and turning on his right, he slammed his back against the wall. Three marines in desert, combat fatigues looked up to him with worries as he was panting, hands on his knees. Yes it was real. He was back. _Oh God, no!_

"We got 'em, Sir." One of the men said, looking over a map set on a metallic table. Mac nodded to his men as a corporal gave him a small salute. "As you planned they've regrouped in the center barracks." The sergeant who was speaking now, pointed at a small circled drew on the map, next to a large black radio.

A grenade exploded in the background and they all slightly ducked instinctively as a gust of dusty wind followed and entered the small HQ. Mac took off his helmet as he stood up, and with his sleeve, wiped the sweat beading his forehead and mixed with a thin layer of sandy dust before he put it back, the sling hanging loosely on its side now, as his mind was focused on the task ahead.

Then the radio cracked and one soldier pressed on the microphone to talk. "Yes, Sir," he answered. "He's right here." The sergeant looked up at his superior who was just back from his recon. "Major, Blue 3 wants to talk to you."

Nodding to his men, Mac set his own chest radio on the right frequency and pressed on the black microphone stuck in a collar around his throat. "Gray 14 to Blue 3."

He listened in his earplug between the interferences, then, the voice of his superior cracked through the distance. "Gray 14, where are you? You should have rejoined the company an hour ago."

"We're a little south east of Delta 3, Sir." He heard himself say. He sighed, feeling the sweat sliding into his burning neck. The heat here was terrible, it could take a man in two days without enough water in his backpack. Instinctively, his tongue went to his chapped lips trying to bring some moisture to his dried skin. Two weeks since they had first set foot in Iraq, and besides a view on dunes, and wide areas of desert and heat, there was nothing else but the hot, burning sand everywhere. "We encountered some strong insurgents here," he continued.

"Do you need help?" replied Blue 3.

"Could use a med evac. I have three wounded and our doc ran out of field supply a couple of hours ago."

"Okay, I'll send you a med unit. Anything else?"

"We're about to take care of the problem here, so counting with repairs I said we should be closing on Delta 2 early tomorrow."

"Good. Cause we're all heading north for Delta 1 after that, and I'll need your unit to back us, so don't get lost Gray 14."

"Acknowledge. Gray 14 out." Mac's sight went to his men, waiting for their orders. "Are they ready?" he asked. This part of the plan disgusted him, but he had no choice.

"Yes, Sir. Tom and Stu are all set in North. Spock and Mc Coy are ready in East near the big snake to cut their retreat. Georges and Lennie are already posted in South, and Skywalker and Leia are waiting for your orders in West to open hostilities."

"Good. Then, let's do it."

He closed his eyes a second praying for this nightmare to end. He had his share of fire, he couldn't be back. It had been too long. But he could feel the sweat dripping from his damp hair and into his burning neck, the intense heat drying their lips every time they talked, as if the desert was sucking their water at the simplest move. He glanced at the opening from where he had come, a bright light shining through the narrow shape pierced into the small room, reminding him that outside his men were broiling under a hot, burning sun.

Where was the lab? Where was Stella? His life wasn't here anymore. This was his past and... He cut his trail of thoughts as he heard someone talking next to him. But when he looked, his men were all busy to prepare the plan. He frowned, he shouldn't hear it like that, it was like a whisper in his ear. He checked his radio and then his earplug, his men staring at him in concerns. Ignoring them, he turned around and froze to find only a black void before him. "Who's here?" he asked as he turned around to see that his men too were gone. _Mac,_ called a female voice. "Stella?" his heart skipped a bit in his chest. So he had been right, it was a dream. "Stella?" he called again, closing his eyes. If it was a dream he just had to open his eyes and be done with it.

His eyes fluttered, fighting to open as if lead was weighing heavily on his eyelids, then he managed to crook an eye open. Before him, a dark shape surrounded by a shining light appeared moving slowly. Then, the dark shape gained consistency and the face of Stella appeared in a blur. He could see she was nervous, staring back at him with anxiety. He swallowed hardly, his tongue running slowly on his dry lips as he tried to speak.

"What...what happened?" he croaked through a small breath as he tried to rise on his elbows but only succeeded with the left, an excruciating pain exploding in his right side. _What the... _He winced, muffling a groan of pain.

"Don't move, Mac. You've been shot." She quickly said as she pressed a firm but delicate hand over his chest to keep him lay on the ground.

Giving up with a soft moan, he let his head fall back, feeling now the soft jacket underneath the back of his head, and the loud beating of a headache soaring from his right temple. He let out a long, exhausted breath as he tried to soothe the hammer behind his temples, but failed miserably. Blinking to shave the thick veil that still lingered before his eyes, his sight looked nervously for his partner to be sure he wasn't in a dream again. Then, her words came back to his mind. He had been shot. _Shot! By who?_ Where was he? Wincing, his right hand went to touch the throbbing pain beating beneath his hairline. Unfortunately, as soon as his arm had risen a few inches, the move awoke an excruciating pain. His face contorted in pain as a weak groan escaped his lips.

"Mac. C'mon," intervened Stella, her eyes filling with more worries as the minutes passed. "Don't try to move."

But his stubbornness got the best of him, and he reached his right temple with his other hand. A little awkward move, he had to admit, but at least, this way it wasn't hurting too much. There, he found a soft fabric under his fingers as he rubbed lightly the big bump protruding beneath the improvised bandage. He frowned, seeing the deep lines of worries painted on his partner's face.

"You knocked me out," he teased with a croaked voice, trying to lighten her mood.

A weak smile grazed her lips as she gently lowered his left hand and put it back to his side. "Try to stay still, otherwise I might really knock you out, this time," she answered softly as a part of the weight on her heart had been lifted the minute he had teased her. If Mac was able to joke, then it meant that he wasn't doing so bad. She sighed with a light relief, her shoulders relaxing a bit.

" 'kay, but can you help me first." He needed to know what was going on, and if she was okay too? Taking support on his left arm, Mac tried again to sit, putting his weight on his good arm, his face contorted in pain.

"To what, Mac?" she raised her tone as she saw him moving and realized he was too stubborn to listen anyway, so why not help, right. _Damn man!_ She cursed, as she helped him to sit.

A firm hand behind his back and another before him, she guided him to the nearest wall, as his legs were pushing so his butt grated at the concrete, until he found a well deserved wall to support his upper body.

He let out a small sigh the minute his back leaned against the wall. "Thanks," he said, his voice muffled by his rasping breath. Then, he raised a tired gaze to her, a weak smile grazing his lips. "Like that I can have a better look."

Stella smirked, pressing a soft hand over his clammy forehead, checking for an eventual fever, he smiled back at her gentleness. "What's so important that you need a better look at? Huh." She asked gingerly. At least she was glad, he wasn't burning.

Then, his left hand surprised her as he cupped her right cheek, his thumb gently circling around the scratch she had totally forgotten. Her heart skipped a bit in her chest at his surprising move, and swallowed the knot formed in her throat at the delicate touch of his fingertip grazing her skin.

"You," his soft voice whispered. He remembered now, the crime scene on the roof, his gut warning him that something was wrong, then everything had gone hell, the shots, and his partner struggling to help him to stand and as soon as he couldn't she had started to drag him. He swallowed as he saw pain filled in her beautiful, emerald eyes. She had risked her life for him.

For a moment their eyes connected, green, sparkling emeralds melting into vibrant, ocean turquoises as his thumb gently stroked her soft skin. Then, he broke their touch, slightly blushing, not sure he had behaved so appropriately with his best friends. But at least, he knew she was real, she wasn't a dream like before. He hadn't lost her on the roof and he wasn't deluding himself in a fantasy of her being alive. No, she was real, his mind repeated with delight.

"You're hurt," he stated, worries painted on his face as he noticed the bloody gash smearing her sleeve.

"Ah, that's nothing," she shaved the remark, trying to step back, but Mac was quick to grab her arm to keep her close of him.

"Let me see," he asked on a soft tone, his hands already tearing her green sleeve to reveal the wound beneath it. It was small, though long of four inches, but hopefully, the bullet had only grazed the first layers of the skin, and Mac was thankful the shot had missed her. He released his breath, it was only a long scratch and the blood had already started to dry forming caked, crimson spots, though a thin line of blood was still oozing in the middle.

"Sounds already healing," he added, though Stella wasn't sure if it was to reassure her or himself.

Without speaking he ripped the bottom of his t-shirt, tearing a long strip from it under Stella's widened eyes. Then, he quickly wrapped the strip around her arm, not without wincing everytime he was pulling to his wounded shoulder.

"You shouldn't move," Stella scolded him, fear lurking in the depth of her eyes as she had noticed with pain his frequent winces, praying his moves wasn't going to reopen his wound. "Mac," she called gently, her hand nestled on his nape. She couldn't deny that him taking care of her, was a nice feeling. But then, she couldn't move and draw her wounded arm to her or she knew damn well that he would try to reach for her, tearing more on his own wounds in the process. _Damn it, Mac. You gonna hurt yourself._

Choosing not to answer, Mac finished his craft with a small knot and a big smile plastered on his face. "Here you go, like new." He grinned proudly.

A tired smile carved her face as her emerald eyes connected with his. "Thanks, doc."

"You welcome. You patched me up. The least I could do was doing the same." His brows creased seeing she was still keeping a close face.

"Thanks to you being asleep at the time, otherwise you wouldn't be thanking me," she dropped sadly. No, she was sure that if he had been awake he wouldn't be thanking her right now. In fact, if she remembered right, even unconscious he groaned from the pain.

He sighed. "I'm okay Stell," he paused, seeing she wasn't believing him. "Or at least I will be as soon as we'll get outta here," he finished, trying to reassure her. He should be okay, he had known worst and without a good company like his partner to keep watch on him.

"Mac, you stayed unconscious almost an hour."

He smirked tiredly, ignoring the dull pain throbbing through his shoulder. "Well at least I got some sleep. Which if I remember correctly is the one thing you're bothering me everyday with." He teased, raising his brows in a grin.

She shook her head, hoping his playful attitude wasn't to hide a bigger problem. _With Mac, you'd never know._

"Thanks," his voice resonated in the small cabin.

"For what?" she replied her brows rose in a question.

He smiled warmly. "Your scarf," His good hand pointed at the fabric wrapped around his head.

"Ah, that. I thought the color was better on you, and besides, I had no medkit in my reach." She wasn't lying, though she didn't mention that seeing his face drained of all color had been the painful moment of her life. She had never seen someone losing it this fast and turning ashen, well, besides the vics she used to discover, but Mac wasn't dead, and she wanted him to stay alive. Her eyes avoided his long questioning stare.

Mac watched closely Stella as she tried to avoid his eyes. The only time he had seen her like that was when she had woken up at the hospital after he had found her near a dead Frankie. She was scared. He remembered while the shooting, even though his vision had quickly blurred, he had asked her to save her life, to abandon him. _Never_, had painfully echoed her voice. _Never_. With care, his left hand lifted her chin, his eyes meeting the fear lurking inside those green emeralds.

"Hey, I'm okay," he whispered softly.

She nodded slightly, trying as much as she could to hold back the tears that threatened to wet her eyes. She couldn't break in front of him. _Not now. _Not when he needed her. Then, taking a deep breath she summoned her strength and looked straight into his deep, ocean eyes.

"Don't ask me that again." She murmured, her vice struggling to keep her emotions at bay.

Knowing perfectly what she meant, he tightened his lips in remorse, and pulled her close to him. He couldn't talk, words would be too dull to be spoken aloud, so instead he wrapped his good arm around her shoulders, and gently pressed her against him, ensuring that she understood what she really meant to him, and why he had said that; why he had asked her to leave him behind. He couldn't lie to her. If the occasion happened again, and he had to make a choice between his life and hers, he would do it again, and the fact she was slightly trembling in his arm right now, meant she knew it too.

_**xxx**_

The radio cracked her parasited words in the middle of the gloomy lobby. "Charlie 12, thirty seventh floor cleared."

Danny lifted his eyes from the map he was looking at and frowned. Another floor, and still no track of their shooters.

"The city is big," said Sinclair as he had noticed the frown carving the yound CSI's face. "With more than twenty possible buildings from which they could shoot, you can't expect to find them that quickly," finished the Chief as if he had read Danny's mind.

Sighing, Danny shook his head. Of course not. But the longer it was taking to their team to find those damn bastards, the longer his friend's blood was leaking out of his body; odds piling up against him to survive.

"Mac is tough, Messer. You should know that," added the Chief of the Detectives, knowing the kid was probably thinking the worse right now.

"I know Chief. It's just that I can't stand to stay here doing nothing," he replied angrily as his eyes ran again over the map displaying several blocks around time Square, and trying to figure out where the shooters could be. Where would he, Danny Messer, have placed those damn guns? He sighed, the best person fit for this job right now was the one they were trying to save, Mac. His boss would have known in one glimpse where to look for. He was a former marine, damn it! And his brain could catch up in one second the best clear view to take the shot.

"You are doing something Detective," replied Sinclair, ignoring Danny's anger. "You're coordinating the teams with your lab. Any results from the round extracted from officer Baymore?" he enquired, trying to change the subject.

"Nah. Adam is still on it. He knows he has to call me the second he got something," he replied still a bit agitated as he glanced at the stairs behind him, and leading to his friends. If only he could go there. Maybe, the shooters wouldn't be able to get him if he was dashing in zigzags.

"Cool it, Messer! I need you here and focus!" voiced the Chief as he had noticed Danny's regular glances to the roof access. He had heard about Messer's showdown few hours ago, and wasn't surprised; the young CSI was known for his hot head. Though the Chief wasn't about to let one of his men play cocky while two others were stranded. _No, two's enough. _To add to that, if they were able to rescue Taylor and Bonasera and the former learned that he had left one of his men get foolishly killed, he knew that the Head of the Crime Lab would hold him responsible and would get his ass, sooner or later. He sighed, as he had come to know and respect Taylor, Sinclair knew better than make an enemy of him. Having him at his side was a good thing for his own career as the man had been able to pull him from some nasty affairs lately, let aside blackmail and other craps that had been thrown at him and could have ended his political entry. No, Taylor was an asset in his game, far too valuable for having him against him. He sighed, and the same with Bonasera. That woman was a fury if anyone attacked her family.

Danny swallowed the reprimand as he looked down to the carpeted floor. The Chief was right, they had no time for his feelings to get in the way. Mac would have said the same thing if he had been here. He sighed, his friend wouldn't have to say a thing, in fact, one look at Mac scolding eyes and Danny would have cooled down immediately. In fact, he had already learned the hard way what it meant to play alone, not trusting Mac. _Crap._ He wished he was there. Things were so simple when Mac was paving the way. Bending over the map, his hands rested on the large plastic displaying the streets and towers around them. Then, Danny went back staring at the grid of New York City before him, trying to figure out what were the best angles the shooters might have taken. Though his mind kept playing the same words: _if only Mac and Stella were here._

_**xxx**_

"Hey," called Lindsay as she met Sheldon in the too silent lobby. Two uniformed cops were guarding the main door, while two others were scribbling things on an improvised white board stuck near a table.

"Linds? I thought it was your day off," asked Sheldon with a deep frown.

She sighed. "Not when my bosses' lives are at stakes. Danny said they were stuck on the roof and nobody can go to help them. How are they doin'?"

He gave her a grim look and unwrapped a giant map before him, his gaze focusing immediately on a small area. "So far, Stella is okay. But I can't tell the same thing about Mac. Stella stopped the bleeding but there's still too many possibilities with a concussion or from the gunshot wound." He raised his sight to her and noticed her face had turned pale. "Hey, ya know Mac." He tried to reassure her. "Solid as a rock." He gave her a small grin. He knew Lindsay had felt drown to the team since day one, especially by dealing with a lot of cases with Mac. Quickly, the two had become friends. He smiled, who in Mac's team wasn't someone he wasn't considering as a friend. The man was too much of a caring leader to let anyone indifferent.

She gave him a shy smile before she tossed her coat on the empty couch, understanding now why her husband had kept Mac's news away from her. Just thinking that her friends were stranded and out of reach had given her the creep, and now that. Mac shot. Who were these guys? And what did they want with her friends.

"Huh, I think he went with the Chief to the floor right beneath us to check on shooting angles and range." Said Danny, his eyes unmoving from the plan.

She nodded, and bent over the map, he had displayed. "Is that blueprints from here?" She frowned.

"Yes. I'm trying to see if there's any path to get to Mac and Stella that would help us to evacuate them." he said, his eyes darting to the lines of the map.

"Like a vent evacuation of a central heating?" She queried with a smug face.

He frowned. "Yeah, where did you..." he was cut short as she pointed at a small square ten inches below where he was looking. "How did you?"

She grinned. "Got a boyfriend who worked in building construction. Don't tell Danny."

"Sure." He smiled as he looked closer at the drawing. "I think we may have found our path."

_**xxx**_

Leaned against the wall, her shoulder rubbed the warmth of his partner from time to time. Stella gave him a quick glance to check if he wasn't starting to show any signs of a bad concussion. With relief, she noted that, so far, Mac was still holding on. His eyes were closed and he had pasted a small smile of his own probably to reassure her. She sighed, even in the midst of this wreck he was still trying to play hero and put a brave face for her. But she couldn't fault him on that, after all it was one of the things she had always admired in him, althoughshe preferred him staying alive than being a dead hero. What would she do then? Her eyes went back to her hands, biting her lower lip at the sign of the crimson stained; Mac's blood, now dried on her fingers. What would she do without him?

His deep voice surprised her. "Stop worrying Stell. It's gonna be fine."

"I know," she answered mechanically, although she wasn't really convinced by his words. He was badly injured, and although she had stopped the bleeding, it was a matter of time before his condition could worsen and turned into life threatening. The hell, it could already be the case. And to add to that, the team hadn't found a lead to their shooters or a way to get out of this mess. So how could stop, being worried? Even with the best positive attitude, she couldn't shake the idea that tomorrow she could be alone, and Mac gone forever. She felt small tears rising to her eyes and clenched her jaw, not wanting to break before Mac. Even though he had held her few minutes ago, she couldn't assume that he was feeling more than a mere friendship towards her, and being in his arms, even if it was the most amazing feeling she had ever known, wasn't something she desired if it was out of pity.

"You said Don made it out fine," he continued, his eyes still closed. The light of the day had started to shine through the thin layers of the louver and although it was not so bright, it was enough to send long throbbing pain through his skull. So in hope to reduce the pain he had opted to close his eyes. Though, even like that he could feel Stella's anxiety slowly crawling up inside her. "I bet our team is already putting some smart plan to get us outta here," he added with a light chuckle. His team was the best, and he knew what they were capable of. So, anyhow, he knew they would get them out of this mess.

"It's not that," she admitted, her voice low and uncertain. How could she tell him that she was scared to lose him, so scared that it made her sick? That she wanted to hold him, feel him but not only as a friend anymore.

"We're all gonna be fine," he repeated, emphasizing the 'we' to be sure that she understood that he was okay, even though he wasn't sure how long he would be able to hold on. As someone who had been wounded in Beirut, he knew that time was an aggravating factor, especially for bullet wounds unremoved; and seeing how his was wrenching his side, the slug sending hot flares of pain every now and then, he knew that if things were starting to take too long, he wouldn't be up for the ride.

"Hum," she replied vaguely aware he had spoken, her thoughts still trapped with her dilemmas. She frowned, not sure how she could tell Mac about her feelings. There were so many things turning and turning in her head that she wondered if she would just be able to stand without spinning. She let out a small sigh, and there was that paper, she remembered, and those words angrily scribbled in blood. All of this made to lead her partner to this roof. And to what? Kill him?

Mac's brows creased in worries as he could hear Stella's silent torment. Since he had hugged her some twenty minutes ago, her lips are remained sealed in silence. At first, he had thought she wanted to just remain quiet to help him rest. But then, he had felt her worming against his arm, although he was more than happy to feel her against him; her incessant, and almost quiet sighs were beginning to make him nervous. Was she worried about him? Or was it because of their embrace that had embarrassed her? Or maybe his words about caring for her? Maybe she was thinking how to tell him that she had always thought of him as a friend, no more. He swallowed the fear that filled his heart at the idea of losing her friendship by his late actions. He knew that somehow it was stupid from him to think like this; Stella couldn't break their friendship because he had dared to show her his affection. But on the other side, she was really too quiet. And what if he had been right all these years, what if he had really broken their friendship by doing so? His mind rambled in uncertainty. He wasn't sure he had finally made the right move. Maybe she was starting to think that he was taking advantage of the situation to seduce her. Was he? He sighed mentally. He couldn't deny that he had thought about it. Having her so close, her sweet perfume invading his senses, and her body pressed against his had awaken feelings he had thought to be long buried. He forced his eyes open and blinked at the burning light blurring his vision in hope she wasn't going to reveal him a painful truth he didn't want to hear. The truth he had hidden all these years in fear it happened to them again; that he had taken one step too close of her.

"Stell?" he croaked, fearing the look in her eyes. But to his surprise when she looked up and met his eyes, her gaze softened, her frown fading slightly. This had to be a good news, he tried to convince himself.

"Sorry Mac. I was just thinking about all of this." She said, not realizing she was feeding Mac's fear of losing her.

"And?" his brows frowned in uncertainty, as he waited anxiously for her next words. So, she was feeling awkward about him holding her, he deduced. _What a damn idiot!_ Now, he could say good bye to their dinner.

She sighed, before she gave in to her thoughts and started by the piece of evidence she had. "I found that in your hand," she said showing the small wrinkled paper. "And I was wondering how you had known about the shooting before hand?"

"Ah, that." He let go the breath he had been holding, glancing nervously at her. Finally she wasn't pissed off against him. Maybe they could have a chance together. _Well, not until you pop a real date, you idiot,_ he mentally scolded himself.

"Yes, what were you thinking?" she asked, a questioning look in her green, emerald eyes.

"Same." He quickly shelled back, his eyes setting on the small paper. At least he still had hope for something. "I guess you read it?"

She nodded slightly. "Yes, but it sounds gibberish. What's 'An Najaf'?"

He sighed, resting the back of his head against the cold, metallic wall behind him. "It's a name I haven't heard in a long time." He shook his head as if it could shave away all his bad memories, and Stella's lips tightened at the small winces he tried to hide.

"It's a city in Iraq." He continued, his voice losing his strength as he was reluctantly talking about it.

"Iraq? Mac, what is this all about?" She asked, seeing a deep line creasing his forehead as he looked at the louver without really seeing it. A shiver ran through her body as she witnessed his mind drifting to a world of pain and guilt judging by the small wrinkles appearing around his eyes.

"It's about me, Stell." The words escaped his lips with a painful sigh. "It's all about me." He closed his eyes again as his head leaned back against the wall, his mind being flooded by images of his past, his unit, the war, and the deaths. He swallowed the hard truth pondering if it was a good idea to tell her. Would she change her mind about him after that? Probably, his mind murmured him. He sighed, but even if he was scared to lose her, he had to tell her. She had been wounded because of him, and now she was stranded because of him. She had the right to know the truth and why her life was on the line, even if it mean he could lose her.

Stella tensed at Mac obvious discomfort of talking about what seemed to be related to him. She was about to reassure him and tell him that the past didn't matter, but his low voice startled her. It sounded coming from so far away that she checked twice that his lips were really moving.

"It was during the first weeks of the Gulf war." He began, his voice slow and careful in the choices of his words. He opened his eyes and glanced furtively at Stella, to know if she was listening, although he would have preferred she wouldn't. But she was, even waiting expectantly for what he had to say next. His tongue slowly wattered his dried lips in hope to gather his strength and delayed the inulectable truth. "My unit had been assigned to reach Bagdad as many others, but for us, we were ordered to follow the Snake, clean the region and rejoin after that."

"The Snake?" she asked wondering about the name.

He chuckled nervously, it was refreshing to have her reacting like that, hopefully he prayed she would keep the same mind when he would tell her the whole thing. "Yep, that's the name the guys had given to the river Euphrat, the Snake."

"Funny." Stella watched Mac with intensity, trying as much as she could to lighten his mood as it seemed this story was already taking its toll on her weary partner. _God, Mac. What happened back there to shake you this way? Why are so afraid to tell me?_

"Let's say we had our moments." He shook his head grimly. In another life he had too found that the name was funny, but not today. Today the name was a painful reminder of his failure. He stared softly at Stella, not wanting to appear too brooding. She wasn't responsible for all this. She didn't deserve to have him mulling over when certain death was waiting for them outside. With a deep sight, his thoughts drifted back to the dusty plains of Iraq.

She smiled warmly to encourage him to continue giving him a sparkling, comforting look, though inside, she knew that it was very difficult for him to speak about it, like a never healed wound, it would always hurt. In fact, he had in rare occasions talked about his past as a marine, and each time had been to bring back sad memories, and she wondered if he had any happy in his past. Seeing that he still hesitated to resume, she wrapped her hands around his, signaling him that she wasn't afraid of what he was going to say. Whatever he had done or lived wasn't gonna change the way she looked at him. She wasn't going to leave him.

His warm gaze set upon her fingers entwined with his and then on her timid face, as if he was pondering his next words, then, his voice came back with more strength. "My unit and I, had been caught by surprise by the Iraqi forces, hindering us to join our troops near Karbala. They kept us busy three long days, until we came up with a strategy to get rid of them. Unfortunately, things don't always go as planned." He paused, his mind drifting again. "After, I'd lost four men, and three wounded, I had to take measures. I..." His voice trailed off for a moment and Stella waited quietly that he resumed his story, knowing the hard part still remained to be told. "I set a plan to finish with them once and for all."

She let a small smile tugged at her lips. Of course, he had to be the one coming with the big plan, as he always did. But then, her smile faded when she realized it was the core of his trouble; guilt. As the one in charge, he was probably feeling guilty if he had lost some of his men. She frowned, But surely, he couldn't blame himself for something like that. Of course, knowing her partner, Mac had always considered people under his orders as a life under his protection. Therefore, any wounds or death happening to one member was considered like a direct blow towards him. But guilt? She thought for a moment.

His green, ocean eyes connected with hers, as to be sure that she hadn't back down. _Not yet._ He thought with misery. No, when she'll know she won't stick around after we get free from this place. He swallowed the small knot in his throat, but he owed her to tell her the plain truth. "Let's just say that we had managed to make them regroup at one central point. Our plan," he sighed, "My plan was to oblige them to surrender, so I posted teams around them, although it took us almost a day to manage to get everyone in position."

"You trapped them in a crossfire," Stella whispered, understanding now how Mac's instinct had guessed about the trap.

He sighed with guilt as she had already guessed. A small proud sparkle lighted his eyes a moment as her bright mind had deduced his move. "Yes. In a well organized crossfire." His sight left her eyes and he gazed at the ceiling. "They should have surrendered. It was the most logical choice, hour after hour our mortar was eating at their defenses. They had no way to get out as I had set men between them and the snake. No water, and food supply was short for both of us. But..." he clenched his jaw. "They proved to be more persistent than what I thought. They fought for another day, and I got two more wounded by giving them a chance to surrender. But my superiors were still expecting us, and we were running out of time; our unit a big part of the big finale. At this time, the forces fighting us were so resilient than any man missing could mean a breach in the big scheme, and they couldn't afford to wait for us. So I took a decision. We marked the barracks where they were hiding."

"It was war, Mac. You had no choice. It was either them or you." She praised, comforting him.

"Actually the sergeant never got the time to carry out my orders as we heard an awful sound coming from their place. It was like the sky had been torn by an invisible hand. When I looked outside from the HQ, all we could see was a huge, black cloud, escaping the burning remains of what had been their center. They had blown themselves up, Stell." His face contorted in guilt. "Crazy." He whispered finally.

"Then it's not your fault Mac. You can't blame yourself for it." She frowned wondering what was the real problem. If the insurgent had blown themselves up instead of surrendering, there was nothing Mac could have done to prevent that. So why so angry after himself?

He smirked with disgust. "Yes it is. I was the one to come up with that plan to regroup them. And to regroup they did!" he voiced angrily, already regretting he had snapped at her. She wasn't responsible for all this, he was. "Hell they did so well that they regrouped with their kids and wives..." his voice trailed off again, sorrow and hesitations back as he was waiting for his partner to take her distance from him, a murderer, the very same person that they strove to put behind bars every day. He clenched his jaw, ready to see horror and disgust reflected in her eyes as he had seen in his mirror so many times since that day, but instead she did something he wasn't expecting. She wrapped her arm around his shoulders in a sign of support, and let him mulling about his guilt without a word. Only the soft stroke of her fingers to his nape was the reminder of her silent comfort.

Stella remained quiet at this new data. No wonder he was feeling guilty. _Oh Mac, it's not your fault. You should know that. But of course you had to play the guilty hero all the way. How could you know?_

"We found them when we went to check for survivors," he resumed after a long, painful silence, his voice slow, as if he wanted to keep it in control, though she could feel his body slightly trembling from the guilt and painful memory. "Kids and women in the middle of this wreck," he paused somber, taking a painful breath. "Charred civilian corpses in the middle of a war." His voice finally concluded with sadness.

She swallowed the sadness that had invaded her. It was hard to see her strong and stubborn partner appearing so weak, his barriers down. She wanted to hug and tell him how much he was wrong, that he shouldn't be that mad at himself. He had been a soldier in a war he couldn't control. It wasn't his fault, but those who had dared to bring their family in the conflict and in a reckless manner had finally taken the lives of their family with them.

"You couldn't know, Mac," she finally whispered, her eyes lingering on his pale face. He shook his head, and for a minute she wondered if it was because he agreed with her, or just to prevent her to try to comfort him more.

Mac stared at the concrete ground, unable to look at Stella. He didn't deserve to be forgiven. What had happened was because of his plan, and now they were stuck on this roof because of a mistake he had done some nineteen years ago.

"Mac?" she called softly, her fingertips gently stroking his nape. This wasn't his fault, but then, she knew he wasn't ready to listen, not the way he was acting right now. No words she could use would be helpful. She sighed deciding she'd try at another time, and asked the next question that burned her lips since he had taught her about An Najaf. "You think someone's got a grudge?"

"I don't know," he answered, feeling very tired. "When I saw the note I just reacted with my gut. An Najaf was a crossfire turned bad, and on the roof, we were in the perfect spot for another one. So it made sense at the time."

She sighed. "And you were right." Her gaze went to the door as new shots were heard, denting the metal panel that protected them from harm, and trying to pierce through the louver. "Resilient, huh?" She threw with defiance, in hope his partner would react, and it worked.

He raised his brows. "Very resilient." He repeated as his mind was once again back into a world of tumbling thoughts.

She smirked as she stood up. "Not as much as you and I can be."

"What are you doing?" asked Mac suddenly very nervous. Was she going to try another Bonasera stunt? "Stella?" he repeated as he saw her heading to the door, and his heart started to beat a hundred miles an hour. _C'mon, don't let her do anything stupid. Gee, Mac you and your story should have shut the hell up. Look at her. _

"Just need to stretch my leg a little," she answered with a mischievous smile.

He raked his throat, to be sure he had her full attention, and his eyes locked with hers. "Well, I prefer if you were doing that right here," he said pointing at his side, where he felt the metallic wall looked thicker.

"Relax, Mac, besides, I don't think they're that good to shoot." She continued, stepping closer to the door.

Mac saw with fear as her hand lingered on the handle. He shook his head in denial. "You're wrong, Stell. They are." A determined stare filled his eyes.

The fear in his voice stopped her action immediately, turning toward him a puzzle look, and discovered that guilt and remorse had vanished from his eyes to be replaced by fear. Fear? Fear for her? But these guys weren't that good, or otherwise they would have all been dead, including her partner as he was the first target. "What makes you say that?" she asked now intrigued. Mac had never stated something without any aces in his sleeves. "We were almost fifteen people on the roof, and they shot widely at everybody."

He swallowed his saliva trying to wet his dry mouth, but it didn't work, and his voice came a bit rougher than he intended to. "No, they proceeded in order and with accuracy." He eyes pierced through her, trying desperately to convince her that she shouldn't underestimate them.

She frowned. How could he say that? Even though she was more than glad they had missed a fatal shot with him, or her too. _Unless_. She closed her hands into fists. "You think they missed us in purpose?"

He shook his head. "I think they played us to be trapped in here." He spoke with anger. _And I let them do it. _He scolded himself._ I let them hurt you, _his mind shoot in misery and anger about his actions. He should have been more vigilant. The minute he had seen the evidence with his name on it, he should have kept her aside. A roof, with multiple view angles, he should have thought about a trap. Why he hadn't?

Stella stared back at him. The sudden realization of a more wicked trap was even scarier than the crossfire. It meant they hadn't played to kill, no, their true inttention were to hurt and watch, dixit the chopper from the news. They were probably the one who had called them. For what? to get a better picture of them dying? "You think they're playing with us? That's sick." She pouted in disgust.

He smirked and winced in pain as he had moved his right arm, forgetting about the hole in his shoulder. "Told me about it," he grunted. _And mostly to let me slowly die, so you could watch._ But he couldn't tell her that. These guys had probably thought it would be fun to get him a witness to track his final hours, kinda reminder of what he had left. That's why they hadn't killed her. Although if his slow death had spared the life of his partner, then he was thankful for it. He sighed, but unfortunately she was going to be that witness. Nausea invaded his mouth at the thought of her watching him slowly died. No, he had to hang on, at least until she was far from him, even though he wasn't ready to give up yet, if it had to happen, he would prefer her not to witness it._ I can't have her live with that._

She crouched next to him as she had noted in anguish his painful winces after he had again moved his arm, sending new flares of pain through his weary body. "Can you sit without hurting yourself, please. You're messing with my work." She stated, worries wrinkling her forehead as she rested a warm hand to check his forehead. Again it was clammy, and cold, not really reassuring her.

He chuckled before he let out a small gasp, and he let his head sagged back against the wall, exhausted. "Sorry doc," he murmured. He wanted to lye down and not move, and people to forget about him. The pain was everywhere, wrenching his shoulder and throbbing madly behind his skull, but it was nothing compared to the fear of losing her.

"Oh, C'mon, Mac," she scolded him lightly, before she added a warm smile. "Just stay put until we come up with a plan." She squeezed gently his good shoulder, then stood up again, and looked around her. She wanted more than anything to remain with him and keep a close eye on him, but she knew that if they didn't come up with a plan soon, she could really lose him. So reluctantly, she moved to the inside of the cabin, a small smile tugged at her lips when she felt his gaze on her, probably worried that she would try a stunt and go outside. But she wouldn't, she wanted to remain with him and she wasn't going to act foolishly and abandon him this time. So instead she began rummaging through the stack piled in the cabin. She had already done that an hour ago, though she did it quickly, but she couldn't sit and wait, not when her partner's life was at stakes. Surely there was something she could find to help them. There had to be.

_...TBC_

_**

* * *

****A/N: **__Well, you'd have noticed that Mac's unit speaks in codename as any communication had to be coded at anytime in operation, like Gray 14 and Blue 3 which are codenames for Mac and his commander, as for Delta 3 it's An Najaf, Delta 2 is Karbala, and you will have deduced that Delta 1 is Bagdad._

_So again, thanks to all for reading, and don't forget to leave a review and let me know what you thought about Mac and his past in Iraq, or anything else._


	3. We take care of each other

**A/N:** Thanks to everyone for your wonderful reviews, they made me blush, though I don't mind at all, lol, and thanks to all of you who put me or this story on their favs, and for reading this too! You guys rock!! So now, let's get back to our heroes...

This story hasn't been beta-ed, so all mistakes are mine.

**Summary:** As Mac and Stella are thinking about taking a new step towards each other, an invisible enemy strikes their backs in a deadly game and left them stranded. SMacked, D/L, Team friendship...Angst/Hurt/Comfort/Romance.

**Disclaimer:** I don't own anything, beside the characters I created for this story. CSI NY belongs to CBS and Jerry Bruckeimer.

* * *

She dropped her arms to her side, and winced as a dull pain shot from the graze on her skin. She sighed in despair, not believing it. Another hour had passed and they were still stuck in this cabin. She checked her watch and frowned. Almost four hours they've been trapped, and she had found nothing to help them. She glanced at her partner who had become quiet the last twenty minutes. She knew he was okay because she had observed his chest rising slowly as he had fallen asleep. _He's okay,_ her mind repeated. _Yeah, as anyone can be with a bullet hole and a concussion._ She sighed. At least, he was taking some rest and holding on, but for how long? Her lips tight, she checked once again the nearest cardboard box. Again she found only packs of old useless napkins, and soaps. This place must have been used as a storage room for the hotel at one point, but now all these stuffs were old, and mostly useless for them.

Her gaze went back to her partner still form resting against the metallic wall, her thoughts back to their last conversation. He had said that those guys had shot on purpose and with accuracy, but what he hadn't said was why? Okay trapping them was a thing, but on the long run they should have known that they wouldn't be able to keep them inside more than a day or two. She frowned. Unless it was what they wanted, and why Mac had been the only one severely shot in the shoulder, unlike the cop who was lying dead outside. A long chill ran along her back. They wanted him to die slowly, and painfully. They wanted him to suffer. Nausea invaded her mouth at the thought of what sick mind could come up with that kind of revenge. A painful sigh escaped her lips. Stranded as they were, that sick plan was taking a good pace already. She put down the box she was holding and went to sit near her partner. There was nothing useful in this place anyway.

His jacket covering his chest, she watched calmly the slow rise of his chest, proof that he was still alive. His breath was regular, and she noticed that his eyes were twitching as if he was dreaming again, or having a nightmare. She bit her lower lip, going for the latter. With what he had told her about An Najaf, and how he felt guilty, there were few chances he was having a peaceful dream of resting on a beach. She could bet he was relieving it, again and again, trying to change the inevitable end, doing his Mac Taylor thing: trying to save as many lives as he could. But this time, sadly, he couldn't change the past. With sorrow, she watched as his lips slowly parted as to yell at something: but only a painful whimper came from his throat, as his jaw clenched in pain. Whoever wanted to make him suffer was succeeding, she realized painfully. The small note and his wounds were already working their way towards his mind, tearing apart his barriers and soon his soul. Her eyes suddenly felt wet at the kindness of his heart. 'To serve and protect', it was like those words had been carved in stone to describe him.

Her phone rang in her pocket. Rubbing quickly her eyes, she pulled her phone out to get the call, not wanting to wake him up. Even though he was in a nightmare, he needed rest, besides, being here could really be assimilated as hell too. She swallowed back her hidden tears and stood up, taking a few careful steps away from him.

"Sheldon?" she whispered, trying to hide her sadness.

The frenzied voice of her friend quickly responded. "Yes, Stell. I'm with Linds. How you guys're holdin' up?"

"We're okay, Sheldon," she replied sadly as she looked at the louver. The sun was up and shining now. It would have been a great, sunny day if they hadn't been trapped in this small shanty, waiting in dread for one of them to be taken away.

"And Mac?" this time it was Lindsay's voice that echoed through the phone.

Stella could hear the anguish behind the calm voice the young detective tried to muster. She glanced at her partner and noticed that he was stirring; her whispers had probably awoken him. _Talk about light sleep for a marine._

"He's waking up and holding on, Linds, ya know him," she said with a light smile. Mac looked at her with a frown. She gave him a questioning look to know if he was okay, and he nodded lightly. As always, even if he wasn't fine he wouldn't tell her. She tightened her lips, but she couldn't stop herself by asking. Then, he stared at her, his tired eyes asking what the team had found, but instead of speaking he seemed to relax, waiting for her to talk when she'd be done.

"Good." It was Sheldon's voice again. "We think we have found a shaft that goes from the cabin to a room next to the lobby."

She let out her breath. "Great! Where is it, Sheldon?" Her eyes darted around her, peering at the half obscurity.

"According to the blueprints, it should be in the back of the cabin. Can you see it?" continued the ME.

She shook her head, and brought her hand to her nape in disappointment. Of course, according to Murphy's laws, when things turned bad they could only go worse. Her sight went to the back of the cabin, but not without having run through a bunch of cardboard boxes, buckets, steel and glass panels that was messily stored.

"Stella?" called Sheldon. "It should rise from the floor."

"Yeah, it's a mess up here, Sheldon." And with the poor light coming from the louver, she wasn't about to see much in it. "I'll call you when I'd find it." Putting back her phone in her pocket, she glanced back at Mac.

"What is it?" he asked, his voice still a bit groggy from his forcedsleep.

"Sheldon and Lindsay found a shaft that finishes here." She pointed at the pile of card boxes right in front of her. "Probably an old vent shaft, and instead of removing it the landlord had chosen to build that cabin around it." She smirked. "Maybe our luck, huh?"

Mac looked to his right at the dark, messy storage. His brows creased and then, his sight went back to Stella. "You gonna need help," he stated as he pushed on his legs, his back heavily leaning against the wall to give him support.

Stella watched with horror as Mac pushed to raise on his legs. His left shoulder took support on the wall behind him while his pale face was showing the signs of his struggle with the gravity.

"Mac? What the hell ya think you're doin'?" In less than a second, she was by his side, supporting part of his weight as she had slipped his good arm around her neck, and was trying to keep him still against the wall. The scent of his aftershave invaded her senses, and her thoughts were suddenly taken to their dinner date that sounded so far away now. _No, only dinner,_ scolded her mind, as she was crazy enough to think of this when he could crumble at any moment. _C'mon, Stell, get a hold on yourself._

He let out a small grunt as he finally stood up, though the wall behind him was keeping him up and Stella's body was preventing him to slide on any side. Then, he gave her a boyish grin of victory. He wasn't dead yet, and he wanted her to know she could count on him. He surely wasn't about to give up without pulling a damn good fight.

"Oh drop that stupid grin," fumed Stella as his victory smile meant that he really intended to rummage through this wreck with a bullet in his shoulder. _Crazy, _shout her mind. "You're hurt, you lost blood, and you're barely standing..." then, the rest of her words died on her lips as she noticed his extreme paleness and his body slightly crumbling toward her. "Mac?" she called, now scared.

He was about to retort a witty remark when the world around him began to spin. He leaned his head back against the wall. With a small sigh he closed his eyes, hoping to stop the dizziness that invaded his mind, but instead his ears rang. Stella's voice became a far whisper. Cold beads of sweat slid along his temples. He was cold and weak. _Damn it!_ He wasn't going to pass out, not like this, not in front of Stella. Biting his lower lip, he fought to remain conscious, his eyes blinking and focusing on his slow regular breathing. _In and out,_ his mind repeated to anchor him to the reality. Then, he finally heard Stella's voice again, though this time, her tone wasn't angry, nor was she scolding him, no, it was filled with worries, and fear.

"Hey, stay with me, Mac." Her tone was warm and almost pleading.

His mouth was dry. "It's okay... I'm fine," he managed to breathe out. "I'm okay," he repeated as his eyes met the fear in her partner's.

"No Mac, you're not. And it's gonna be worse if you keep playing hero when there's no need to."

He wanted to reply that she was wrong, that he was fine, but deep down he knew she was right. If it hadn't been for her, he would already be dead from blood loss, and here he was, scaring her after all she had done for him. He looked at her with remorse and realized that it wasn't the right time for arguing with her. She was right, and the more he would deny it, the more he would get tired and weak, decreasing his own chances. For a moment he stared at her tense features darting anxious looks towards him. If she had been wounded, he wouldn't have let her move or do anything. He sighed, but he didn't want to let her down, or that she imagined he had abandonned her. How could he remain on the side, when they needed all their strength to get out of there?

Stella seemed to notice his mental turmoil. She softly cupped his left cheek. "Please Mac, for me. I need you to sit and rest. I want to be sure you gonna be okay."

His turquoise eyes gleamed anxiously towards her emeralds pleading him, still debating about his duty towards her; as long as he could breathe and stand. But then, he caught the fear increasing in her green fields, and realized with pain that he was the reason for this fear. He had never wanted to see her hurt or in pain, though it seemed that as much as he was trying to pull a brave face she seemed to worry more. He closed his eyes, knowing that today he had to put his pride aside for her own good. And then, slowly he let himself sink back to the floor, his back rubbing at the wall to slow him down. It's at that moment that he felt her hand pressed against his chest to make sure he wasn't toppling over. He realized she must have done it since the beginning, but he was too tired to feel it until now. As he finally sat, her hand remained pressed over his heart, maybe to check it was still beating.

Stella watched with pain as Mac resigned to sit back on the floor. It was hard for him to admit that he wasn't in control, but now it was time for him to trust her, to let her take charge of him. "Sorry," she heard him mumbling, almost out of breath. She sighed. At one point, she had really thought he was going to pass out, and probably he would have if he hadn't fought like a lion to remain conscious. She couldn't do anything else but praise his courage, but as much as she admired him, he couldn't play with his life like that, not when she was around anyway. So, that he likes it or not, she was going to make sure that this time, he stays put. Though seeing the paleness of his face, and the remorseful eyes he was giving her, he wasn't going to be hard to convince. He had scared her, and as she hadn't been able to hide it from him, he had probably changed his mind because of her. She knew he cared for her enough to swallow back his pride if it meant she would be okay, though she wasn't sure he knew she was ready to do the same for him or how much she really cared about him.

After a minute, he was finally breathing with more ease, and she released her light pressure from his chest with regret. Anytime her fingers could feel his body breathing and beating under her touch was a gift she would eternally cherish. He nodded in understanding, a deep frown creasing his forehead. His face glistened from the sweat. No words needed to be spoken, or it would make either of them awkward about this situation. She knew from the pain she could read in his eyes that he wasn't going to put another fight to go help her. He knew she wouldn't agree to, so why push more words that could finish hurting his pride and his sense of chivalry? Without a word, she stepped back and began to dig a path between her and the back of the cabin. She slowly set the boxes on the floor behind her, discarding the items that hindered her way. She had preferred to leave Mac to cool down on his own, not wanting to make him uncomfortable. She was really seeing him like a white knight in his shining armor, but this time, it was her job to make sure he would be okay.

"Friday?" she spoke after a few minutes, breaking the deafening silence.

"What?" Mac asked, a bit confused. His sagging head jerked to look up as sleep was trying to take him back to slumber land. "What's on Friday?"

Stella smiled. She leaned her left shoulder against the edge of a metallic panel and pushed. "Our dinner, Mac." She grunted under the heavy panel resisting her and forcing its way into her tender flesh.

Mac swallowed, his dark thoughts almost forgotten. She was still up for a dinner? with him? After all he had said; after Iraq, and him being the reason she was stranded and hurt?

"Don't you think you gonna get away from it, Mac?" she teased, behind a pile ofcardboard, hoping to take him from his somber thoughts.

A small smile grazed his lips, recognizing their favorite game, although he had no intention to win. No, all he wanted was to make this dinner happen. "You cheated, Stella," he replied on the same playing tone, his mind happy to have something else to dwell on.

"Didn't," she replied childishly with a smile, her back to him. She nodded happy of herself, he was talking, and as long as he was she'd know that he was okay and hanging on.

"Well, how ya call havin' Intel before hand?" he threw back. His lips grazed with a soft smile as he imagined her face curling into a fake offended look.

"Told ya already, Mac. You, made the bet. Not me. Your choice." She praised her victory.

He smirked. Oh yes, it was his choice, and if he hadn't been too damn busy he would have made it sooner. "So, Friday huh?"

"Yep. And the most expensive restaurant of this city, remember?" she quipped.

"Yeah, you got to burn my credit card too, right?" he threw, his mind now playing with all the romantic places he had come to know with his job, but had never had the opportunity to try. And then, slowly his thoughts drifted to the clothes she might want to wear for their dinner. He smiled as he pictured her in a long, emerald dress matching her beautiful eyes, with an open neck and shoulder, like she had worn the day he had got rid of his tie for good, though that one was a deep black. He felt his body warming at the memory of her walking in his office dressed like a queen. At the time his heart had stopped in his chest. He couldn't have stopped his sight to caress her lovely curves up and down. He knew from the smile she had shot him back then that his praising face hadn't come unnoticed to her. He chuckled lightly, remembering how he had tried to stick to a light smile, his lips curling up at the growing desire he had felt. On that precise evening, he had wished she was going out with him. He closed his eyes, her perfume still printed in his memory as she had stepped close to him and had started to undress his tie, gently patting his chest. How stupid he must have looked if any of his team had looked towards them, but he had just been unable to erase his stupid smile; she had been so close to him. He smiled, his mind lingering in the soft memory. But then her voice calling him drew him from his reverie.

"Oh, C'mon, Mac. Like you couldn't afford it." She laughed wickedly, enjoying their bickering. Somehow it made her feel normal again, and not as if Mac's life was slowly waning.

"For you I would afford anything," he whispered in a low tone.

"What?" she asked, not sure she had heard him right. Did he say for her? She couldn't stop the warm feeling that had suddenly invaded her. Was he interested too? She blushed, imagining him in a black, cladding suit that would nicely cut his muscular frame. A smile sparkled in her eyes at the thought of her arms wrapping around him to slowy take that nice suit off.

He smirked, thinking she hadn't heard him. "I said for a Foster kid, you have an expensive taste."

_Yeah right, nice play mister, but I heard it_. "Only with the one that can afford me." She quipped, referring to him.

He frowned. Had she heard him? His face blushed at the sweet possibility that their bickering had turned into foreplay. But then, he shaved the idea from his thoughts. Stella couldn't be interested in him. Okay, he had a good situation and earned a living, but he had been married, and that only, was a big obstacle in the equation of love. _Love._ He bit his lower lip. Since Peyton, his love life had been pretty empty, though, even if he had cared for Peyton, it wasn't the same feeling that came to his mind when he thought about Stella. No, it was, much stronger. If she would have asked him to go to London with him, he wouldn't have needed a terrorist attack to be convinced. No, he would just grab his keys and say, okay, let's go. He smiled but Stella would never ask him something like that. She was caring too much for asking for personal things.

Stella's brows creased at Mac's silence. She stepped back, giving a quick glance at her partner. He was still sat, though his face was creased with a deep frown. "You okay?"

"Yeah, fine," he answered back, although she could see he was staring in front of him, deep in thoughts. She would have given a fortune to know what was on his mind right now. Maybe, he wasn't ready for this dinner after all, she thought sadly. As long as he was alive and happy, it was all that would matter to her, even if it meant him being with someone else. She sighed. Then, with regret she changed the topic. "If you're right about An Najaf, why do you think they've waited almost twenty years to get back to you?"

The question took him aback. He sadly realized their game was over, they were back to work mode. Obviously, Stella hadn't been serious about all of this. He sighed. "I don't know. There was no survivor Stella. I think, it's more probable that someone is using my past to get to me. I don't believe in ghost anyway..." his voice trailed off. Though he had to admit he had felt pretty haunted since that day.

She clenched her jaw at Mac's change of tone, his mood back to guilt. Pushing another wooden panel to the side, she was about to comfort him when she found it. Soaring through the ground and protruding like a mole hole it was there, the shaft, she had found it. Then, to her disappointment, she realized it wasn't as she had expected it. She had thought, that it would be big enough for them to get through it, which meant that Mac would be safely tucked in a hospital in the next hour. But it wasn't. Instead, the hatch, cylindrical, was a bit bigger than her head, and although if she squeezed herself enough she could get in, there was no way Mac would fit in. To add to their misery, the hatch was sealed by a grid. She glanced at her watch with a hopeless sigh. It had taken her almost half an hour to get to it, and now she discovered it was useless as the rest of the things stored in here. _Damn it!_

"Stell?" Mac's worried voice came from the opposite side of the cabin.

"Yeah, still there." How was she going to explain to him that their last hope had vanished. She frowned, looking closely at the grid. Like any other hatch, if they had put a grid on it, there had to be a way to open it.

"You need help?" he voiced, not sure he would be able to help her anyway, even keeping his eyes open was becoming hard now. It was probably due to his little showdown. He sighed, but he had to ask, this silence was killing him. Those cardboard boxes could be filled with anything from paper to garden tools. He shivered at the thought of those falling down on her. "Stella?" he called again, his voice stronger as he told himself that nothing had fallen down yet, or he would have heard it. But there was those glasses panels, and those could be deadly too sharp when it happened to break. He was about to call her again, when she appeared from behind a big pile of boxes.

"No need to yell. I'm here," she teased, although he could read disappointment on her face.

"What...what were you doin'?" he asked, his voice choked in his throat as he tried to slow down his heart rate, without success.

"Found the shaft," she let out, staring at his eyes filled with worries. "But it's locked, Mac, I'm sorry."

"Locked," he murmured, his eyes dropping to the floor as his last chances of finding a quick exit had vanished. The shooters knew they would be trapped, that's why they had left Stella get him inside. "There's always a solution Stella," he finally said, trying to convey his hope in his eyes. "I'm sure you gonna find one." Even if his fate was to die here, he couldn't let her depress because of him.

She locked her eyes with his. He looked so tired. His face was still glistening although his showdown had been minutes ago. Even his breathing seemed a bit difficult. "You okay?" her voice coming soft.

He nodded. "Don't worry, I'll be fine."

Her lips sealed, she watched him with uncertainty. No, he wasn't fine, and if she wasn't finding a solution quickly, she feared he was going to get worse. "I saw tools in one of these boxes. Maybe there'll be one useful to open it."

Blinking a bit, he gave her a weary smile. "That's my girl."

_My girl._ She shot him back a warm smile, but then it quickly faded as she saw him repress a wince. _Hold on, Mac._ Turning back, she rummaged through the boxes. Where the hell was it? Racking her brain, she remembered it was with the napkins. _Napkins_, of course, it was one of the first boxes she had put on the floor. Taking the boxes out, she finally got to the one at the bottom and opened it. There it was, among rags and old napkins, a rusty pruning shear. Grabbing it, she went to the hatch and looked at the grid. The small bars that composed it didn't look that thick. Placing the pruning shear at the extremity of one bar, she pressed, again and again, until finally with a sharp sound the steel bar gave up. "It works, Mac," she voiced too happy to share her victory with her partner.

"I knew nothing can resist you, Stell," he answered, though his voice sounded more tired than before. "Not even me," he admitted in a whisper. He leaned the back of his head against the cold, steel wall. It seemed the whole cabin was spinning around him, and he had to shut his eyes. But the dizziness kept growing.

She blushed at his sweet comment, though she was sure, he hadn't expected her to hear it. A second bar was cut. Putting more energy, she cut a third one. Her hands were burning now from the pressure on the steel handle. _I'm so going to feel it tomorrow. _A fourth gave up under her pressure, and finally a fifth. She smiled at her work as she twisted the bar outside to reveal the dark opening. Pulling out her phone, she dialed Hawkes as she peered inside the black hole. "I'm there Sheldon. But it's too small for Mac, or any of you."

"Alright. What about the size of a bag?" she heard him asked. He seemed to be moving, she deduced from his laborious breathing.

"Might work, if there's nothing too hard and long in it. Why?"

"I was thinking about a medkit."

"That'd be great, let's try it," she said, hoping that they would finally get a break. At last, she would be able to take better care of Mac.

"We're in the room right now. Can you toss something in? We kinda have two different shaft here."

"Sure, wait a sec." Back to the boxes, she grabbed the first heavy object she found, a small colored stone in a rabbit shape. "Sorry," she whispered to the small object as she dropped it in the shaft. "Here it comes."

The sound reverberated through the metallic vent as the object banged against the steel walls several times and finally stopped with a dull sound.

"Damn it," she heard Hawkes cursed on the phone.

"Sheldon? What's going on?"

"Sorry Stell, we weren't in the right room...wait....we...what..."his voice trailed off as he spoke with Lindsay. "Okay Stell, yeah we're there, don't worry. We gonna open our end, I'll call you back."

She sighed, wondering. _And then what?_ Her sight ran over the boxes near her. They needed a rope or something like that to drag the medkit up. Slowly, she listed the things she had peeped inside those boxes, trying to find what would be useful, then she smiled. _Yes, it should work. _With a smile tugged at the corner of her mouth, she went back to the first pile and rummaged through it. After a couple of minutes, she found a thread of barbwire.

"I got Sheldon, Mac. We should have a medkit soon, not bad huh?" she frowned as her partner didn't answer. Thinking of him, he hadn't spoken for a while. Going back to where she had left him, she found him, his arms hanged loosely on his side, his head was sloping slowly to his side. "Mac?"

Suddenly, he raised his head, surprised by her voice. She kneeled beside him, and cupped his cheek. His skin was warm and sweating. "You okay?"

"Yeah," he breathed out, his eyes fluttering and fighting to remain open.

"Mac?" She pressed her hand on his forehead to find it burning. That couldn't be good. "Hey, you hang in there," she said, with a soft tone.

"Yea', don'... worry, just tire'...," he slurred.

"Okay." She replied, though she knew he wasn't fine, and was still trying to pull a brave face for her. Cupping his chin with both hands, her thumbs caressed his cheeks as his eyelids closed again. He was too worn out to fight the sleep anymore. "Rest," she whispered as she dropped a warm kiss on his forehead. "I'll take care of everything."

"...'kay," he managed to mumble, his head already slanting toward his chest.

Resting a heart-wrenched sight on his sleeping form, she swallowed back her fear. The roll of barbwire carefully in hand, she went back with regret to the shaft. She didn't like to leave him like that, but she had no choice. More than ever Mac needed that medkit. "Sheldon," she voiced on the phone as she had dialed him.

"We're almost done, Stell..." he couldn't finish as she cut him off.

"Sheldon, Mac's not feeling well."

She heard him talk to someone about moving their asses faster, then, he was back with her. "Describe his symptoms."

"He's sweating, a lot. And right now, he felt asleep. His forehead is burning and I don't know what to do." She was pacing anxiously the small space near the shaft.

"It's okay, Stell, I'm here." She heard sighs. "I think Mac must be running a fever."

"A fever?" She rubbed her forehead in disbelief, as if the hole in his shoulder wasn't enough, he had to be sick now. _Damn it!_

"Yeah, must be the bullet. It stayed too long in his shoulder already, and he's starting to develop an infection."

"What can I do?"

Sheldon sighed. "I'm gonna give you some antibiotic for him, though it's not gonna help him for long if we don't get rid of the problem."

"You mean the bullet?"

"Yeah, Stell. You gonna have to get it out for him. But don't worry, I'll help you."

Her heart beat faster at the thought of her cutting through her partner's flesh. _He got to be kiddin' me! _Then, she heard a loud sound as metal was scorched somewhere down the shaft. "I can't Sheldon. I'm no doc, c'mon there's got to be another way."

"Sorry, Stell. If we want to stop the infection rapidly you're his best shot."

She sighed. _Damn it._ What if she was doing more damage, what if.... _C'mon, Stell, don't panic now, okay, Mac trusts you._ A small light entered the shaft from above, and she peered inside to find Sheldon looking at her.

"Hey," he voiced. "We're ready."

"Okay, here we go," she said as she tossed the roll of barbwire after she had tied up the end around the shaft.

"Got it," shot Sheldon's voice after a minute.

A deadly silence followed his words. Looking over her shoulder in Mac's direction, she prayed he was holding on.

"Okay, Stell. You can pull now."

Checking the weight at the end of the wire, Stella pulled slowly at first, careful not to dig the steel thorns in her palms. But after a moment, the weight became much heavier and her heart rate was increasing quickly at the thought of Mac, alone and waiting for her. So, she hurried, even though the steel thorns dug into her tender flesh. After all, she wasn't going to die from that, but Mac, his time was decreasing quickly.

"Got it Sheldon," she informed him as she grabbed the bag and dropped it on the floor. Then, she noticed, the rope attached to it, and smiled. "Thanks, Sheldon." She whispered, although he couldn't hear her. Taking the end, she firmly attached the rope around the shaft.

"Okay, Stell. You'll find the antibiotics in the side pockets; the pills are blue. Give him two right now. I'll get back to you with what you gonna need for the bullet."

Taking the bag with her, she quickly made her way back to Mac, to find him deeply asleep. She dropped the bag on the floor and kneeled beside him. He wasn't moving and her first reaction was to panic and fear the worst. Maybe he had died while she was so busy that she had forgotten him. Fear gripped at her heart. With trembling fingers, she checked for a pulse over his clammy throat. Her pounding heart slow down the moment she found his, it was slow and steady, and his chest was rising slowly. She scolded herself for not having noticed it before. _He's okay, thank God._

"Mac, wake up," she called softly. He had to take those pills. But he didn't move. "Hey Mac," she repeated, but this time she gently cupped his cheeks with both hands, lifting his chin and smiled when she was rewarded by a pair of glazing, green, ocean eyes staring back at her.

"Stell," he slurred. His vision was a blur, but he could tell by the voice, the sweet perfume invading his senses and the warm touch on his face that the silhouette before him was Stella.

"I need you to wake up, Mac." She saw him blink several times to shave his grogginess then, his body moved slightly. "No, don't move. It's okay. I just need you to do something for me."

"'s 'kay." A loud hammer was pounding in his head, and although his eyes were now open, it was hard to pierce through the thick haze before him. But as he breathed deeply, the dark shape became clearer and Stella appeared, kneeled beside him. "Stell?" He mouthed, his voice now stronger.

"Hey. How do you feel?" she asked, seeing that he had recovered some of his attention, his green, ocean eyes now more alert.

He smiled weakly as she was giving him a curious look. "Rested," he tried with a hint of a broad smile. Even though his head was madly hammering, he could see the fear in her eyes, and realized than once again he had probably scared her. He sighed, looking with remorse.

She smiled back, noting that he was back to his old same and was trying to reassure her, though he was far from being in a good shape. She nodded and rummaged through the bag. She pulled out a bottle of water, and finding the blue pills, took two and handed them.

He frowned at the pills. "What's that?"

"For your own good, Mac." He raised his eyebrows in a smirk, and took the pills, swallowing them with the water.

Stella smiled at the fact he hadn't hesitated to swallow the pills, and watched as he leaned his head against the wall to rest. Without waiting more, she pulled an IV from the bag. Finding a small hole where the steel panels met in the wall behind Mac, she clung a tiny hook to it.

Mac watched her with tight lips as she settled the IV bag in the hook and then lifted his left sleeve. Carefully, she cleaned the skin over his wrist, and giving him a small smile, inserted the needle under his skin. The small prick was nothing compared to the never ending throbbing pain shooting in his shoulder. But nevertheless, her taking care of him was making him uncomfortable.

"Sorry," he whispered, his face glistening from the burning fever.

"For what?" she frowned, not understanding what he meant as she set a small dressing to maintain the needle in place.

He breathed deeply, his chest rising with more difficulty as the air grew heavy around him. "For being that useless." His eyes darted to the IV bag now dripping slowly its content into his veins.

"Nah, forget it. It's great, like that I got to play the boss."

He chuckled. "I thought you'd prefer to play doctor."

She thought for a moment. She would have taken care of him, even if he couldn't talk or move. How could she tell him that what mattered to her was him being alive? But instead, she skipped the obstacle and opted for a light joke. "Depends of the patient, ya know." She quipped, her eyes gleaming. For a very brief instant**,** she would have sworn she had seen him blushing.

"Thanks," he finally replied, his shyness forgotten.

"You' welcome." She smiled warmly as her hand went to gently stroke his cheek.

Mac wasn't sure what to do or say, but he didn't want to break the contact of her gentle touch on his skin, it was soothing and calming his aching body. Somehow she was the only peace he had in this world of pain and chaos. So at the moment he saw her hand ready to leave, he pressed his hand over hers. He wanted for the moment to last eternally. Silence settled between them, their faces mirroring the same timid smile as two hearts finally met after an endless search, and for a minute, time stood still in a blossoming explosion of hearts beating in rhythm.

She was paralyzed by the intensity she could read in his sparkling, turquoise eyes. In all her life, she had never known a moment with so many things expressed at once just with one sparkle. It was there, she knew it, and she realized she had no doubt about it. He was the one. She could hear his heart beating with hers, following her thoughts. She grinned like a kid discovering her gift in front of a Christmas tree. He, was her gift, and she couldn't control the feelings that flooded her mind in happiness at this sudden understanding.

But then, the magic of the moment was broken as her phone rang in her pocket. Mac let go her hand and stared at the louver as if it was suddenly the most interesting thing in the world.

"I have what you need, Stell." It was Hawkes.

She frowned, realizing she hadn't talked about it to Mac. "Okay, be right back," she said with regret as she ran to the shaft.

Five minutes later, Mac saw her emerging from the pile of boxes another bag in hand. His chin pointed at the bag, silently asking what it was.

"Another thing for you."

He frowned, but then, he remembered the pills, the strange feeling of drowsiness and the constant change of temperature he was experiencing. It had been what, five, six hours now that they were trapped. He sighed. "Infection?" He asked, although he already knew the answer. Her lips tight, she nodded. So he was right, his body was rejecting the metal piece impaled in his shoulder. "How?"

She frowned, not certain that he would accept to do it, especially with her as his 'doctor'. "Sheldon thinks, we should get rid of the bullet."

"Okay." He breathed out, knowing the implications. Someone had to remove it, and beside him and Stella, there was no one here to help them. So it meant Stella would have to do it. He clenched his jaw, regretting she had to go through this because of him. He, himself, had to deal for a long time after his own failure in Beirut.

"Okay? Just like that." She snapped a bit with a rush. She wasn't angry after him. It was just hard for her to cope with the fact that she had to cut through his flesh, and that he agreed with it. "Don't ya want to know how or who?" she asked bewildered.

He smiled, seeing how she was becoming feverish herself, pacing the small space between the door and the pile of cardboard boxes, rambling. "I trust you, " he simply stated. He sighed, he didn't need anything else. And if anybody had ask him who he wanted for this, out of billions he would have picked her up.

She froze and stared at her partner. His face was covered in sweat, dark bags carved under his eyes. Thin lines of sweat were dripping from his hairline and into his neck. His arms were limply resting by his side, with one hooked up at an IV bag, and his white t-shirt, damp from the blood and sweat cladded his rising, panting chest. He was a mess, but even though, his eyes were bearing a dazzling strength she had in rare occasions seen; faith. _I trust you,_ his words echoed in her mind. He had resumed everything with three simple words. _I trust you._ His life, his universe, all the things that were him, that he had built could end today by her very hand if she was making a mistake, like says, cut an artery or a muscle. But no, for him it seemed simple. _I trust you._ She couldn't speak at the vote of confidence that he was giving her. Only her eyes were connected to his, unable to move, to breathe or to think. Then, everything stopped around her, and she knew that she wouldn't fail him. She couldn't, not with his faith in her. So she smiled warmly and kneeled beside him.

"Then, let's do it," she heard herself say, her eyes glazing with warmth towards him.

_**xxx**_

She hastened her pace. Stella had said that Mac wasn't so good and they have to come up to an exit plan rapidly. So maybe, Don and Danny would know more. She turned at a corner, and exited directly into the lobby. She smiled at the view of her husband bend over a map with two other officers. His brows were creased as if he was deep in thoughts, then he pointed at an area and talked to his radio.

"Charlie 1 to Charlie 36, where are you guys?"

The radio creaked and a voice echoed in the room. "Tower 3, 42nd floor clear. We're heading up."

"Acknowledge." Danny sighed as he set back the small radio.

"Hey, Danny," called his wife. "You found something?"

He frowned. "Not much. So far we cleared something like twenty floors spread in five buildings, though we're not sure anyone of them is where they are and the time we reach the top, we can already be too late. They played us Linds, and we're trapped in their hands." He paused, his anger rising. "I can't believe they got Mac. I mean..." he sighed, rubbing his face with his hands. "I'm sorry Linds, I..."

"Hey, it's okay Danny," she said grabbing his hand and giving it a small squeeze. "I'm worried too."

"I know."

Then, their sights were drawn by Sheldon as he entered the lobby and connected his laptop to the flat screen stuck on the wall. He turned towards his friends. "That was the closest screen I could find that fast, I'm gonna have to unplug yours," he informed Danny.

Danny nodded. "So far it didn't help much." He saw the 3D map of the building disappearing. "What ya need it for?"

Sheldon typed some instructions on his laptop and the screen was replaced by his desk. "Mac's running a fever. We think it's an infection. I need the screen to assist Stella to remove the bullet and buy him some time."

Then, he typed a few other commands and then suddenly, Stella's face appeared on the giant screen. She was pale, though they could see a crimson graze on her right cheek, and her forehead was smeared with blood too, her curls messily falling down on both sides of her face.

"Stella?" called in unison, Danny and Lindsay as they gathered in front of the screen.

"Hey, guys. Sheldon, we're ready," she said, her voice sounding very tired, as she stepped back and the camera revealed Mac sitting against a wall.

Danny's heart stopped the minute he saw his boss and friend. The extreme paleness of his face was enough to pull some tear from him, and then he noticed the blood covering the right side of his face and the large, crimson smear covering his t-shirt as well. Probably where he had been shot. _My God, Mac._

"Okay, Mac, Stell," replied Sheldon. "First Mac, I gonna need you to lie down. Stella won't be able to remove the bullet if you're moving."

Danny winced, squeezing Lindsay's hand, as Mac slowly slipped to the ground, his face flushed in pain. Without a word, Lindsay leaned against him, and he could hear her heart beating fast too.

_**xxx**_

His head was hurting like hell, and every move was sending waves of nausea and pain, but he clenched his jaw and slowly slid to the ground. His gaze never left Stella. He wasn't going to lose it before her. It was true that most of the time he was pasting a brave face before everyone, and his team wasn't the last, it was his MO. And although he had caught a glimpse of fear in Danny and Lindsay's eyes, he had to admit that right now he was more worried about his ashen partner. As long as he was holding on, he knew she wouldn't do something foolish, like running outside to get help and find herself killed. So he plastered his best, cocky grin and looked at her as he lay on the ground. For a minute, he shivered as the cold from the concrete seeped to his damp t-shirt. Then he stopped, his eyes locked into hers. She was his anchor, and from now on, he wasn't going to leave her.

She gave him a weak smile as she began to enlarge the cut of his t-shirt as ordered by Hawkes, revealing more of his skin underneath. She saw him quivered as his wet skin was directly in contact with the cold air and wondered for a moment if it was such a good idea.

"Okay, Stell," she heard Sheldon said. "Now you need to clean the wound and removed the strips you used to stop the bleeding."

Mac listened to Sheldon's voice, his heart beating faster in his chest. He was burning and cold at the same time, and the voices around him were becoming fuzzy. _Must be the fever._ He heard Stella questioning Hawkes about giving him some painkillers first. _Yeah, he could use some of those. _He smiled inwardly._ He could count on her to take care of him._

"Sorry, Mac," said Sheldon through the screen. "It's too dangerous with your concussion."

He sighed, _always the hard way, huh._ Then, he felt Stella's warm hand on his cheek and he looked at her. He could see she was in mental pain for what she was about to do. He swallowed and nodded. "I'll be okay," he whispered to reassure her. So, now he had to keep his lips sealed, no matter what. He didn't want to make her believe that she was hurting him, not her.

Nodding lightly, she glanced at the medkit, and slipped her hands in a pair of gloves. With caution, she slowly removed the soaked shirt she had put over his wound. Though it had been more than six hours now, the wound wasn't dry, and she could see a thin line of blood still oozing and dripping to his armpit. She discarded the useless bloody shirt, and grabbed the sterile tweezers from the medkit. The most delicately, she began to pull at the end of a strip she had stashed inside the wound to stop the bleeding. The first, bloody rag came out without resistance, but not the second. This one was harder, and she had to give more strength to the pull. As she got it out, the wound began to bleed again profusely, and her stomach heaved in pain. Quickly, she pressed a gauze over it and turned to the small screen she had installed at the left side of Mac.

"Sheldon?" she asked almost in panic at the leak she had created.

"It's okay, Stell. I was expecting it."

"Maybe you can tell me too, so that I'm not surprised." She snapped a bit angrily, as she looked at Mac. His face had remained impassive, as if she hadn't reopened his wound. She knew he was in deep pain, but again, he was probably trying to keep it inside not to freak her out. Though his tight lips were a clear indication he was holding it back.

"Sorry, Stell. Now, ya gonna have to widen the wound a little."

Mac cringed at Sheldon's words. Getting the rags out of his wounds without painkillers had been a hell of a fight to remain conscious. His heart beat loudly, and his ears were now buzzling as he gritted his teeth. He blinked. With a deep breath, he looked up at Stella. All he had to do was hanging on, he repeated to himself. She would do just fine.

Her left hand still pressed over Mac's leaking wound to keep the gauze in place, she dropped the tweezers and grabbed the scalpel. Her hand holding the cutting tool trembled lightly as she approached it of his shoulder and froze. She couldn't do it. Then, she felt his strong, hand wrapped around her wrist. Her eyes automatically drifted towards his vast, ocean fields. She could read his determination, and his faith in her.

"You gonna do fine, Stell." He graced her of his most charming smile, releasing his hold. Keeping his best smile, he lay his head back with confidence. This was going to hurt. So he'd better be prepared, he scolded himself.

Comforted by her partner, she took a deep breath, her hand closed to the wound and cut through the scorched flesh. She looked up at Mac with remorse. He didn't scream nor flinch, no, he just lay there, a determined stare locked on his face. So, she cut a little more, like Sheldon had said, to be able to get to the bullet without damaging too much tissue. She just needed to open the wound a little more, and the bullet will come as easy as to slip a ring to a bride, he had said. _If only._

_**xxx**_

Danny watched stunned as Stella was ripping a blade into Mac's t-shirt, and felt his wife's hand tightened her hold on his. Then, the radio creaked and he quickly turned to the table.

"Charlie 25 to Charlie 1," said a voice.

"Charlie 1 here, go ahead," replied Danny, recognizing Riley's voice. He shook his head. The cop had kept his promise. Since the start, he and all his buddies had scouted the towers. Danny's eyes scanned the map in search of the building assigned to Riley's team.

"Charlie 1, we got a hit," exploded Riley through the radio. "I repeat, we got a hit."

_Finally._ Danny's eyes met Lindsay's as she had approached the table, her back to the screen.

"Did you cuff him?" asked eagerly Danny. He hoped they would be able to extract enough information to the guy, to get to the others.

"Negatif, Charlie 1. Weapon and ammo are there, but suspect is gone. I repeat, suspect is gone," uttered Charlie 25.

_Damn it!_ Danny slammed his hand to the table in anger. They were so close.

_**xxx**_

Stella watched nervously as more blood leaked from the wound in a small crimson line and dripped on the concrete. _Oh God._ What was she doing? She deepened the surgical tweezers in the wound in search of the damn slug. Even though she knew Mac was doing his best to remain still and not show his pain; she could see by the way he was firmly shutting his eyes and his torn, flushed face that he was in an excruciating pain. She had to find that bullet quickly. _C'mon,_ she scolded herself.

"Where are you?" She mumbled between clenched teeth as the tweezers lingered deeper in the wound.

"Go slow and easy," she heard Sheldon advised her through the screen.

She cursed. _Slow and easy, sure. _Like that she could hurt Mac a bit longer. "Oh C'mon, where is it?" She growled with impatience, her chest rising more rapidly, as her heart was beating fast behind her ears. "I'm almost there, Mac," she stated to comfort her partner, but his lack of response froze her.

"Mac?" she questioned, her face beaded in sweat, all her attention focused on the bleeding hole.

Still no response. Her stomach churned in fear.

"Mac?" this time she gave him a quick glance and saw with horror that his face was drained of his color, sagging to the side, limp. "Mac! Oh God, Sheldon," she called fear rising in her voice. "Mac's not responding!" she yelled in panic, as her hand searched his neck for a pulse but found nothing. "Sheldon he has no pulse! His heart stopped!"

_**xxx**_

"You're sure there's no one in the room?" questioned Danny. His hand lazily brushed his golden hair. _What the hell?_

"Affirmative Charlie, what do you want us to do?" replied Charlie 25.

He racked his brain. _What Mac would do now?_ If the guy was gone so maybe the roof was safe. Maybe it was their chances to go and rescue their friends. Still pondering about his next move, Danny was pulled out his thoughts by the fear in Stella's voice.

"Mac! Oh God, Sheldon, Mac's not responding!" echoed Stella's panicked voice through the lobby, freezing every CSI in the room. "Sheldon he has no pulse! His heart stopped!"

Danny turned slowly to the screen, as if he was in a nightmare. _It can't be true!_ Then, he discovered with horror, Mac, lying on the ground; his face whiter than anything he could remember. Stella was bent over him, her hands covered with his blood. _He's dying,_ his mind shot. _No, not Mac. Not like that._ He screamed mentally in panic. Without even realizing it, his feet brought him to the bottom of the stairs. _It can't be happening!_ His mind repeated. _It can't be happening! _Three by three, he climbed the stairs and rushed for the door going outside. He couldn't let Mac die.

"Danny?" Lindsay called in panic. "No, Danny!" she pleaded as she rushed after him, understanding what was his intentions. "You can't! It's not safe, they're going to kill you!" she yelled, hoping to reason her husband, but he didn't stop, and she saw in dread his back disappearing at the top of the stairs. "Danny!"

_**...TBC

* * *

**_

**A/N:**I know, another cliffie, but I warned you before that this story would be angsty, sorry though.

Thanks again for reading, and again, don't forget to review and tell me what you thought of Mac and Stella's bickering or Danny's showdown. What do you think will happen to Mac and Danny?


	4. To live or let die

**A/N:** Well, this chapter is longer than what I had planned, so hope it fits right. As always thanks for all your wonderful reviews and fav, you're all amazing!

And Vermontgirl61 and Tim, sorry I couldn't leave you a reply since you didn't log, but thanks for your great reviews.

This story hasn't been beta-ed, so all mistakes are mine.

**Summary:** As Mac and Stella are thinking about taking a new step towards each other, an invisible enemy strikes their backs in a deadly game and left them stranded. SMacked, D/L, Team friendship...Angst/Hurt/Comfort/Romance.

**Disclaimer:** I don't own anything, beside the characters I created for this story. CSI NY belongs to CBS and Jerry Bruckeimer.

* * *

"Danny!" Lindsay's panicked voice echoed through the corridor the moment he reached the door.

Grabbing the handle, he took a deep breath and pushed the door, but suddenly he was whacked back violently. His back crashed against the wall behind him with a heavy thud, leaving his print into the white plaster.

"What ya think ya doin'?" shouted a pissed off Don before him. The young Detective stepped before Danny with a dark glare.

"Don? Mac's dyin'! If we don't act, it will be too late!" Danny screamed as he tried to pass his friend, but Don slammed him back against the wall. "What the hell ya...?"

"Don't ya think I know that, Danny?" Don shouted angrily. "Think you're the only one who cares for Mac and Stella? Huh?" His hands smashed on Danny's chest, and he harshly pinned the young CSI to the wall, his face turning crimson. "Told ya before, they're my friends too!"

"Well ya don't show it, Don! Now getta my way!" Danny voiced angrily. With rage, he shaved away his friends arms aside. "Let me go!" he ordered as the detective pushed him back against the wall.

"The hell with you Danny!" Don shouted as Lindsay stormed into the corridor. Relief painted on her face the minute she spotted Danny with Don. "I'm gonna forgive you for what ya've just said!" Don voiced angrily as he was still pinning Danny against the wall, ensuring that the young CSI wasn't gonna throw himself into death's arms. Then, his grip tightened around the straps of Danny's bulletproof vest, and he pushed back Danny against the wall, releasing him at the same time. "You thin' Mac would want that from ya? Huh? You goin' straight outside, sacrificing your life in a dumb rush to save him? Huh?" Don stepped back, his face flushed by anger and rage as he paced back and forth, his hands shaving the air before him. "I'm pissed off too. Damn it! If I could I'd be up there. But right now they need us here, and we won't be helpin' anyone if we're dead!"

"Mac's dyin' Don. I can't stay here and watch," mumbled Danny, with a trembling voice. His arms waved aimlessly in the air. "C'mon man, let me go!" He couldn't let Mac die if there was a thin chance that he could go to help him.

Don stopped, his face was crimson. Burning rage blazed through his crystal eyes as he shot a daunting look at the CSI. "Coz ya think gettin' killed when you have a wife and a kid is better?" His arm pointed at Lindsay still at the end of the corridor, her hands joined in a prayer before her.

Danny glanced at Lindsay with remorse.

"What about Stella?" shot Don. "Huh? What about her, Danny? If somethin' happen to Mac... If he..." he stopped his lips trembling. Taking a step back, he leaned against the wall, feeling suddenly very old and tired. "God, Danny... She'll need us, man, she'll need us." His arms fell loosely to his side in defeat.

"I'm... Don, I..." Danny's voice came out trembling as he realized the pain his friend was in too.

Don slipped slowly to the ground, his legs giving out under him. His arms rested on his rising knees. "I've lost Jess, Danny," he blurted out as tears began to well down his flushed cheeks. "I can't lose anyone of you, Danny. I can't face that again." His hand brushed back his hair, leaving messy strands as he kept his hand in it. He could feel the salty taste of his tears on his lips, but he didn't care. With Jess gone, he was nothing, and if now they were losing Mac, maybe Stella... his heart wrenched in terrible pain. His soul was shattered into pieces, but at least he could save Danny. He could do that for Mac. He owed him this one. _I need to know whether I can count on ya, _Mac had voiced in pain when he had found him with Terrance. _Damn hell! _It was killing him to stay here while his friend could give his last breath, but he had promised to Mac he would have his back. He knew Mac would want him to watch over the team. So no, he wasn't gonna lose Danny too, even if it meant the end of Mac. But deep down, he just prayed it wasn't going to happen.

"I'm sorry, Don," admitted Danny. The print of his back left a dented hole into the plaster behind him as he slumped to the ground, in front of Don, exhausted. His sight turned to the right in remorse. He watched Lindsay nodding to him, her lips tight probably fighting threatening sobs, he realized before she turned back, and headed to the lobby. He closed his eyes, realizing that he was lost without Mac. Don was right. If his boss had been there, _damn it_, Mac would have kicked some sense into his ass or even knocked him out to avoid his stupid act. _But it's Mac, _his mind screamed in pain. He was his mentor, his friend even before being his boss. How could he stay here while his friend could be... he rubbed his face, and did something he had never done before; he prayed. He prayed for his friend's life, he prayed that if there was a God, he would spare Mac, because he had a family waiting for him. They were his family, and they couldn't afford to lose him.

_**xxx**_

"Mac! Oh God, Sheldon, Mac's not responding!" Stella yelled in panic, as her hand searched his neck for a pulse but found nothing. "Sheldon, he's got no pulse! His heart stopped!"

With haste, her hand pressed on his neck. No pulse. _Please, God._ She pressed further near his carotid, her fingers sliding on his clammy skin smeared with blood. She could feel heat radiating from him, but where was that damn pulse. _C'mon it should be there... nothing...Oh, God!_

"Sheldon," she screamed in help.

"Calm down, Stella, take one of your gloves out," said the steady voice of Sheldon.

"What? I..." Her voice trembled, her stomach churning madly. Thoughts of Mac being dead burst forth in her head as nausea invaded her mouth. She couldn't breathe. _Oh, God, not Mac, please. _She breathed deeply trying to reduce her panic. She would be no good to Mac if she was giving in to her fears. Swallowing the hard lump nestled in her throat, she listened to Sheldon. _What gloves? _echoed her as air finally filled her lungs, freeing her mind from panic she mechanically did as ordered. She ripped the glove away and pressed on Mac's carotid, her hand shaking. "I don't..." she paused. Her heart beat furiously inside her chest. Then, her face immediately relaxed when she found a small, but slow and regular beating pulsing under her fingers. "I...I have a pulse," she muffled, with a small voice, not sure she could believe her senses. "He's ... He's still there. Mac's there." _Thank God, he's holding on. _She finally released the breath she had been holding on.

"Okay, Stell, get back to the bullet now," Sheldon pressed.

"But Mac's unconscious?"

"He's okay for now, Stell, but we have to act fast, alright?" Sheldon's calming voice reassured her.

She breathed deeply. Her gaze stuck to Mac's pale face, she gently brushed back a wet strand from his forehead. "'kay." Grabbing a new glove, she slipped her hand in it, and removed the gauze pad from his wound. The blood was still leaking, even more profusely since she had searched the bullet in it. Mac's voice echoed in her mind as a silent support; _I trust you. _She grabbed the tweezers with a renewed motivation, she wouldn't fail him.

"Remember, Stell. Slow and easy."

Nodding, she sank the tweezers in the wound. She had to find that damn slug. But then, as if answering her silent prayer, the tweezers touched something. Very slowly, she deepened the tool a little bit, and found it moving. "I found it," she exclaimed.

"Okay, Stell, try to grab it but without moving it, okay. We don't want to damage any more tissue."

Tightening her lips, her brows creased as she moved the tweezers millimeters after millimeter. With a slight twist of her wrist, she felt the tool closed on something hard. Her brows beaded in sweat, she slowly pulled the slug from the bleeding wound. "Got it." A small smile of victory curved her lips as her hand raised the tweezers ensnaring the deadly slug.

"Good job, Stell, now you have to place some gauze inside the wound, like you did before, it will stop the bleeding."

After several minutes of what Sheldon called surgery, she stared at her work, and wiped the sweat beading her forehead with the back of her hand. In a quick move, she ripped the gloves off and stashed them near the used surgical tools. Mac was still unconscious, but now a nice, white dressing was covering his wound and part of his shoulder. She sagged to the floor, unable to move. Her adrenaline spent.

"You were amazing, Stella," praised Sheldon's voice. "Mac's gonna be okay, now. Don't worry, I'm sure he'll wake up in a few minutes."

She nodded, and turned off the webcam. She was too drained to speak. Slowly, she dragged her numb body next to Mac. She stared at his ashen face lolled to the side. His eyes were shut as if he was asleep, but she knew it wasn't that soft slumber that had taken him. This time it had been her. She closed her eyes and swallowed the feeling of guilt nestled in her throat. Bending over him, she gently cradled his head between her shaking hands. Her head leaned against his burning forehead, and she let out a deep sigh. His faint breathing caressed her face, soothing her aching soul. She needed to feel him alive, she needed him just for what he was, her friend and this half part of her heart that she had never revealed. "Don't die on me, Mac,"she whispered softly. Silent tears rolled down her flushed cheeks to die on his closed eyes. "Please, don't die. I need you, Mac."

_**xxx**_

Her heart was pounding madly behind her ears, while her feet smashed every stair in the rush to find them. A broad smile was tugged at the corner of her mouth. "He's alive!" Lindsay screamed almost out of breath at the moment her foot stepped on the creamy carpet. "Mac's alive, Danny!" she shouted through the corridor. She rounded the corner and spotted him, sat beside Don, their heads bent in defeat. "He's okay, Mac's just unconscious," she voiced again seeing the crunched faces of her husband and friend. Then, she saw the glimmer of understanding piercing through their eyes as her words slowly poured into their tired, worried brains. Both had probably thought that they had lost Mac, she thought with sadness. Then, their sad faces turned into a smile of relief and hope. She kept running, panting now as she stopped before the two men on the ground.

Don squeezed Danny's shoulder as he stood up. "Thanks Linds. I leave you two." He winked at Danny, as he slowly walked to the end of the corridor, hoping that it was the last time that the team and himself had to live through this. Though, Mac and Stella weren't out of the woods yet.

Danny watched as his friend disappeared at the corner. He stood up nervously, facing his wife as he pushed back his glasses to his nose. Without warning, she threw herself in his arms. A bit surprise, he was pushed back against the wall, and he had to step back to steady them.

"Don't... ever... do that,... Danny! Never..." she slowly muffled, her face pressed against his strong chest, his bulletproof vest drying her wet tears.

He wrapped his arms around her, remorse painted on his face. "I... Sorry, Linds, I..." but he stopped when she began to tremble in his arms. He could hear her quiet sobs, and he realized how much he had hurt her too. He rested his chin in her golden hair, kissing them. "I'm sorry, honey. Please, don't cry. I won't leave you."

"You better, Messer," she uttered with pain as her hand softly smashed his chest. "You should trust Mac, Danny. You know he wouldn't have given up the fight so easily."

He swallowed the knot in his throat. Of course he knew that, but his face was so pale, and Stella's voice was so panicked. He closed his eyes, sealing his lips as he tightened his arms around his wife. _Even Mac could have...but he hadn't, _his mind repeated. Mac was still with them. "I'm sorry," was all he could say. "I'm sorry."

_**xxx**_

His foot nervously tapped at the carpeted floor as he watched the numbers slowly increasing. Then, his floor appeared and the doors opened with a ding. He frowned looking at the miserable assembly, their faces glooming in despair as they stared back at him.

"What happen' here?" voiced Sinclair. "Why is everybody wearing a face like in a burial? Is..." but he frowned as the sudden reality hit him. "Mac?" he popped the question, not sure he wanted an answer. The man had fought hard about his political plans, but as he said before, he wasn't ready to go hunting for another CSI as experimented as the former marine to run the Crime Lab. He bit his lower lip, and besides, he had come to appreciate the guy.

The haggard faces shook their heads in denial. Then, Hawkes was the first to talk.

"Mac's okay now, Chief."

"Now?" repeated the Chief in disbelief. So, Mac hadn't been okay before?

Hawkes locked his concerned eyes with the Chief. "We had to remove the bullet." He looked around with sadness at Don. "He's unconscious, but knowing Mac there're great chances that he'll wake up soon."

His sight went to Hawkes then to Flack, who was sitting in the couch, his head bent, and in a corner, near the stairs, he distinguished Messer and Monroe as the two had just entered, stuck together like glue. They're married so yeah he should have expected to see them so close one day or another. He raised his hand and wave at Hawkes to come closer. The doctor frowned but followed the Chief in another room.

As he turned on his heels, the Chief locked his eyes with Hawkes as they were now alone in a small room. "Now, tell me. And I don't mean the crap you're serving to your friends to make them feel better. How long do we have before...before it becomes too late?" His voice rambled.

Hawkes sighed. His hand rubbing his forehead as he looked outside, his lips tight. Then, he spoke, with a slow voice. "Stella removed the bullet, so that should give him some time."

"How long Hawkes?" repeated the Chief with a feeling of dread invading his mind. If the ME was delaying the news it meant it wasn't good.

"Maybe five or six hours in the best case," finally dropped Hawkes as he slumped in defeat in the couch. He looked up at the Chief, who was now grinding his teeth. "I tried to count, evaluating the best shot, but I always come up to the same conclusion, Chief. Mac won't pass the sunset if we don't get him out of there, and that's only if he can hold more than six hours." He let out a deep sigh of resign. "And honestly, I don't see him holding on that long. He lost a lot of blood already, he's running now a fever and an infection, and..."

"That you stopped right?" intervened the Chief, searching for a good news in the middle of this chaotic mess.

"Yes, but without a proper treatment, we just prolonged his suffering. To add to that he's got a bad concussion, and I don't like it. He needs to get to a hospital. Fast. We can't afford to wait any longer, Chief. The more we're waiting..."

Sinclair waved his hand before him to stop the ME. "I got the picture Sheldon," said the Chief, using the ME's first name to soften his tone. "Thank you."

"Don't thank me. I wish I could do more than watch Mac bleeding to death." He stood up, and walked to the window, his gaze lost among the towers bathed by a warm noon sun. He stuffed his hands in his pockets tiredly. "You know Chief," he confessed. "Those bastards want Mac." He knew his voice sounded as a death sentence, but he had to say his piece. "And I don't think they'll back down until they got their kill."

Sinclair didn't answer. He stared at the ME's back cut into the sun's light, and hoped they would find a lead real quick, otherwise, he would really have to go hunting for a new CSI.

_**xxx**_

Stella drew a deep breath, watching her partner with more intensity that she had ever done. His chest rose and fell in rhythm of his slow breathing. _He's alive, _her mind repeated like a comforting litany, _I haven't killed him. _Following the white dressing now covering his chest, her eyes looked at his left arm. She mentally counted, the small drops steadily dripping from the IV line, hoping that each would bring him enough strength to resist and hang on. With a small squeeze to his hand, her sight went back to his pale face. His features were strained as if he was under a lot of efforts, but his eyes remained desperately closed by the forced sleep she had inflicted him. A deep feeling of guilt and pain soared through her heart, tearing her soul, as she wished she had done better to help him. Instead she had plunged him into oblivion.

Sighing, she pressed a wet cloth over his forehead hoping to lower his fever, but it didn't, in fact, for the last twenty minutes, he had seemed to get worse; from a mild fever, his whole body was now on fire, burning anywhere her fingers could come into contact with his skin. Hopeless to his misery, she had tried to make him comfortable, and had lay his head over her laps, whispering, and encouraging him to open his eyes and to fight. So far nothing had worked, and he had remained out of her reach, lost in the dark limbos of pain, and probably guilt, as he had mumbled words that sounded arabics for her. She shook her head in misery, his tormented mind had probably brought him back to Iraq. She gazed lovingly at his tormented face, and wondered why she had never talked to him about certain feelings she had towards him. Time? Not the right occasion? Her mind could list the numerous things she had used as petty excuses to avoid telling him what he really meant to her, and now, she was wondering if she would ever have the chance to talk to him again.

With a low buzz, her phone went off, and she sadly had to abandon Mac an instant to answer. She gazed with remorse at her partner, as Sheldon's voice echoed through the phone. The ME wanted her to send him the slug. They needed to know how many shooters were out there, and if the bullet that had been impaled in Mac meant another shooter. So far, their team had no idea how many were against them, though she doubted there was only one. As Mac had told her, from his own experience, a crossfire meant several gunners, placed at different ranges. So at least they were two against them. But who? And where?

She sighed as she softly lay down his head to rest on her rolled jacket. Her lips tight, she gently brushed back his hair, staring at his closed eyes. "You rest," she said as if he was conscious. "I'll be back shortly." She dropped a tender kiss on his burning forehead and grabbed the slug for Sheldon. Searching through the medkit, she found a plastic bag. Then, after having wrapped the slug into a gauze to protect it from any shock in the shaft, and stuffed it into the bag, she had gone again to the shaft. She tied her small package to the rope, and let it fall slowly into the dark hole.

"Thanks," answered Sheldon on the other side of the rope. "How's Mac?"

She shook her head with sorrow as she peered down the dark hole. "Still unconscious."

Sheldon's face lighted by the electric light turned to look up, trying to reassure her. "You know he's tough, Stella."

She swallowed back the small knot in her throat. "I know Sheldon, I know. But I'm not sure he can't take more..." her voice trailed off. "He's..."

"I'm sure if he could talk right now, he would tell you that you worry too much," intervened the ME. It wasn't the time to let his friend sink and brood about what she had done, or what could happen to Mac. He knew damn well, how difficult it was to think straight when you though you were alone, and right now, Stella needed more than anything to hear the right words. He sighed, usually it was Mac's part. The two were too linked for anyone else to provide the same comforting words. But with Mac unconscious, it would be his job this time.

She chuckled lightly. "Yeah, that's him for sure."

"He trusts you Stell. That's why he's asleep. He knows he can count on you to take care of him, so he took a small break, and you know he needed it."

She let out a heavy sigh not convince. "Hum." _Mac taking a break?_ But yet, Sheldon was right on one thing: Mac had said he trusted her.

"Stell?"

"I've got to get back to Mac, Sheldon."

"Okay. We'll call as soon as we have intel."

"Thanks, Sheldon." she said before she turned back and headed back to Mac.

But again, to her great disappointment, she noted that he hadn't woken up, though now, he was moaning weird words with agitation. He turned on his side as if to avoid something and his face suddenly contorted in pain; his wound crushed under his weight. Her eyes widened and she kneeled quickly beside him to stop his dangerous movement. Gently, she rolled him on his back, carefully cradling his lolling head. He emitted a soft whimper as he rolled heavily on his back, his face covered in more sweat than before. His good arm slid limply from his chest to the ground. She sighed, even in his restless sleep he had to hurt himself. Fortunately, he hadn't ripped of his IV. "C'mon Mac, wake up, please," she said, her hand lingering over his burning forehead. "It's me Mac, it's Stella."

Then, his lips parted. "Stell..." he mumbled.

She reacted immediately, hoping he was waking up. "I'm here, Mac." She cradled his head between her hands, speaking slowly staring at his closed eyes. "I'm right here."

"Stell..." But again, he only pronounced her name, before his lips closed, and he seemed asleep.

It was too much for her to bear, and she was too tired to resist to the painful urge that soared through her heart. She needed him awake, sound and safe. She needed to see him smiling, or at least to see that he was going to be okay. Silent tears welled down her eyes again, and she cursed herself for crying, but it was too painful to see him like this. What if she was really losing him. "Please Mac, wake up..." Her sobs died in his torn t-shirt as her face snuggled in the warm crook of his neck.

_**xxx**_

She stared over Danny's shoulder, peeping at the map. Small dots were now sticking at six different towers, and so far all but one were red; meaning they were still looking for the shooters. As for the one in green, this one had been uncovered. Charlie 25, Riley as had said proudly Danny when he was talking about that cop, had found the gun, tripod and laptop set up there but the room had appeared to be abandoned. So far, they had no new lead and the clock was still ticking, counting down the remaining minutes of Mac's life. It was clear for all of them, that none would leave until Mac and Stella were safe, and those guys in lock up. Lindsay looked at Danny who was shaking his head in denial as the report from Charlie14 came back negative. _Again, a dead end._

She sighed, patting her husband shoulder. "We gonna find them Danny. We already have one of their weapon at the lab, I'm sure Adam's gonna find something."

He stepped back from the table where lay the map, and his blue gaze meet her hazel eyes. "I don't know what I would do without you, Linds." He said, gently pushing back a brown strand of hair behind her ear.

"You have more strength in yourself than you think, Messer," she replied with a small smile tugged at the corner of her mouth as her hand gently rested over his chest.

"That's because of you, Montana," he teased, although his frown reappeared immediately when the radio creaked and another team reported they had cleared another floor. "I wish Mac was here," he whispered sadly, scanning the map again. "...and Stella. Mac had always known to make things so simple."

"He'll be with us soon, Dannny. You know him. He's never late and we have a dinner with my parents planned, remember? I'm sure Stella will make him keep his promise."

"You're right, Mac had never forgotten anything, and he was really impatient to meet your parents, though I'm more." He smiled shyly. "Think they'll get along?"

"I'm sure my parents will fall in love with you the same way as I did. The same goes for our team, they'll love them." She smiled, stroking his back.

He gave her a small smile as his sight was drawn back to the map, the radio creaking again.

"Charlie 1," he spoke, his body filled with more energy. They were going to get those bastards, and tonight they would all be together tocelebrate with the Monroes**. **

_**xxx**_

The webcam and laptop long turned off, Stella had managed to sit behind Mac, his head cradled on her laps, she was patiently stroking his jaw line with her thumb, humming a song the sisters used to sing to her when she was sick, and so far it had worked. His tossing and turning had stopped and his face had relaxed, though pain kept grazing his face every now and then, but he seemed to be better. She grabbed another piece of wet gauze and replaced the one she had set on his burning forehead, still softly whispering her lullaby.

A weak smile tugged at her lips. She would have laughed at the face of anyone that would have predicted her to have Mac lying on her laps and singing a song for him. No, surely she hadn't planned that today, though she hadn't planned that someone would shoot him either, or hell, she would have done anything to keep him inside. She sighed. If only she could have seen it coming this morning when they were in a lobby, instead of looking for a way to get him to invite her for a date. A wave of sadness and sorrow invaded her, and she felt more alone than ever.

"I need you, Mac," she softly whispered, her fingers slowly stroking his burning cheek.

Then, she smirked seeing her sleeping partner stirring, as if he had sensed that she needed him. _My white knight. _She smiled, that description was fitting him so well.

"Hey," she whispered, her fingers gently brushing his warm cheek. "How you feel?"

He gave her the best gift she could have hoped for as he graced her of one of his charming smiles the minute his eyes opened and connected with hers. Though the next second he was blinking, trying to shavethe sleep away.

He tried to comprehend where he was. He was feeling dizzy and heavy, like a ton of lead was pressed over his body. But, Stella's warm smile soothed his aching brain as he locked his eyes with hers, and discover she wasn't a dream. She was still with him. "Stell," his baritone voice echoed in the cabin, although more hoarse than he thought.

She smiled warmly to reassure his worried glances, but once again, her heart filled with joy at the sound of a voice she had thought she would never hear again.

"Don't move," she added quickly as his hand searched something beside him. Her fingers found his, and she gave him a gentle squeeze to reassure him that everything was real. "It seems you sleep a lot when I'm around. Maybe I should think of tuckingyou in more often to be sure you get some rest," she warmly teased, her fingers gently stroking his cheek, and hoping to soothe the pain she could read in his eyes.

A weak chuckle escaped his lips as he squeezed back her hand, though it was with far less energy than he did before.

"I'm sorry," he breathed out as his head moved slowly on her laps to stare at her small smile. He could see it in her eyes, the hurt and pain, and they seemed a bit too red for his taste. She had cried, he realized with sorrow.

She shook her head with a frown. "Mac, what are you sorry for again?"

She couldn't stop looking at the green of his eyes, changing into a light blue every time his head moved a little and was caught in a small gleamer of light. It was like he could see passing through her doubts and fears, directly into her soul. She suppressed a light shiver at the thought of being so naked before the intensity of his stare, but she couldn't look away: he was back, with her, it was all that matter.

He coughed, and Stella brought a bottle of water before his lips. Carefully, she helped him to lift his head, before he sipped the soothing liquid. Wincing, he lay back his head and let out a muffled groan. His eyes locked with hers again, and she saw the same burning sparkle she had seen before the operation.

"For scaring you," he murmured, his chest rising with a deep weary breath; even breathing was taking its toll on him, now.

Her lips tightened as she noticed his tired breath escaping his lips. Was he really going to be fine?

"Well, just don't get used to it, okay," she said, trying to lighten the mood. "I don't think my heart will support this any longer." She looked away for a second. She wasn't ashame of what Mac could find in her eyes, she just didn't want him to see her pain, but she realized sadly that it was too late. He knew, and she could see it reflected in the green fields of his eyes. He had that ability to read her even when she was showing her back to him.

A small frown creased his face. "I'll try." He took a slow breath, his body was on fire, and it was hard to concentrate, his thoughts, his head hammering and yelling like in a concert of Ozzy Osbourne. But the most terrible pain wasn't coming from his body but from his heart. Stella was scared like he had never seen her. He swallowed slowly trying to get his barings back, and give her a better answer than 'a try'. His mind a wreck, the words had escaped his lips involuntarily. But every time he tried to clear his mind and get the control of his thoughts, a cold flashing pain stabbed his brain, sending him back to a world of blur. He blinked, but he had to try, for her

_I'll try. _His words had struck her like a cold blade. What did he mean? Did he doubt he could make it? He couldn't? The Mac Taylor she knew would have never let go. So what was going on with him? If he wasn't believing he could survive this, just how the hell was he going to hang on? Then, as if he had caught her inner thoughts and wanted to distract her, he spoke softly.

"You did great, Stella," he muffled, patting lightly the white dressing covering his chest and shoulder. A small wince appeared on his face. "I never doubted you."

"You kiddin' right? You almost bled to death, and I knocked you out. I don't call that a good job," she exclaimed unable to believe Mac's words. He could have died, and here he was thanking her. Was he nuts?

He chuckled lightly. His good hand closed tenderly on her fingers and he brought them over his heart. "Nah, I was just tired," he whispered exhausted. Gathering his last remaining strength, his turquoise eyes locked into hers and his stare changed to become more serious. "I knew I could count on you, Stell." She needed to know she had done well, that she had saved his life once again. And that most of all, he would leave his life in her hands without hesitate. He couldn't bear the idea that she thought otherwise of herself. She was the reason why he had hung on until now.

Her lips tight, she gave him a shy smile, her eyes blinking from the threatening tears of joy his words had provoked. Once again, Mac Taylor had found the right word to reassure her, and she had to admit, right now she was in much need for them. So his words became like a fresh breath of air in the midst of this chaos.

"Why you've never talked about it?" she asked with a bit of sadness.

"Talk about what?" his brows furrowed. Even though he was dizzy and nauseous, he wasn't the one talking vaguely he noted with a small smirk.

"Your time as a marine," she answered, automatically tightening her lips. She knew it wasn't an easy subject to talk for him, hell, what subject was easy with him, anyway? But she wanted to know why? As her friend, she had come to know a lot about him, but it seemed that his war time had always been put aside for no clear reason.

"There isn't much to say..." he closed his eyes, trying to force that spinning wheel in his head to stop.

"There's always something, Mac, especially when it's about you." A smile tugged at the corner of her lips. He had to know he mattered for her. Anything that was related to him was important to her, even more if it was something he judged himself guilty of.

He raised a brow, his face turning to see her eyes more clearly, his lower lip stuck between his teeth. He could see that she was serious, and not trying to comfort him, she really wanted to know. He pondered a moment if he would be able one day to talk about his past. So much had happened, so many lives brutally taken and with just the memory of the survivors to remember them. He sighed, some days it seemed so long ago when others seemed like yesterday.

"You know you can talk to me about anything, right?" she continued, seeing his inner turmoil surfacing.

"I know. It's just..." He swallowed, not sure what he could tell her. "I don't think..." he sighed sadly.

How could he tell her that he had feared the day she would learn what had happened at An Najaf? Fear it would cost him her friendship, and respect. He couldn't tell her the horrors he had witnessed. This was no game, it was war, in all his sickening horror, war. He knew, she didn't ask because she was just curious, and that she had his well being in mind. But he couldn't poison her mind with these terrifying images of death. Even he, had to fight to make them disappear every night. She didn't need to know. She didn't have to live the same nightmare he was living everyday. No, she was too precious to be altered and deformed by these macabre memories.

"I would like to know more about you from this part. So you know, when the time feels right..." she added seeing the inner turmoil in his green, ocean eyes were giving her. She didn't want to push him, but she knew that it couldn't be healthy to bear this kind of burden alone, at one point he had to share it with someone, or he will be crushed under its weight, and she was willing to be that someone.

"Stella, it's not...I can't." He shook lightly his head in denial, and a painful headache exploded in his head. He shut his eyes, breathing slowly to ease the pain.

Her lips tight, she watched hopeless as he was fighting pain again. "I don't want you to tell me everything, Mac." Her thumb, gently stroke his cheek. She wanted him to know that she would be there for him. "But we are more than good friends,...and I just wanted you to know that I'm here, okay? Whenever you'll need it. And..." she hesitated as his eyes open and gazed at her. "I'll take it as a sign of great friendship, and respect if you were willing to share some of it with me."

He swallowed. It has always been hard for him to refuse anything to her, but this. His lips tight, he closed his eyes, feeling hot tears starting to burn his eyes. It was so hard to keep that inside, so hard and so heavy to keep that burden. He was tired of keeping it a secret, but he didn't want to tell her. _Maybe she'll understand, like she did for An Najaf,_ whispered softly his mind. Maybe she was right.

"Maybe I will," he spoke slowly. "Maybe, if we get out of here alive," he promised as his eyes opened and held hers with his soul.

Stella watched with a mix of sadness and joy, as his green pools seemed to burn from an intense struggle his mind was in.

He took a deep breath. Yes, he would. After all he had put her through she deserved some answers to her question. He let out a hidden sigh. His odds to survive were thin anyway, so then, if he died, he wouldn't have to keep his promise, and add more pain to her life. He blinked again, his eyelids heavier.

"Thanks..." she smiled. Then, she lay a warm hand over his burning forehead as she noticed his exhaustion was back. "Now rest," she whispered. Even if it was comforting to see him talking and his eyes fighting to remain open, she knew that he needed all his strength to hang on. "I take care of everything."

Her long golden curls softly played with his face when she bent to give him a warm kiss over his forehead. She blushed at it was the first time she really did this when he was awake and could see her. But somehow it felt right. _Just in case,_ her heart repeated in her mind, just in case anything happens to him, she wanted him to feel loved, or at least a bit more than the friendship that they had built together.

A smile grazed his face as his eyes shut, and his lips let escape a weary sigh of content.

_**xxx**_

The lobby was strangely quiet, although the silence that reigned there was more one filled with sorrow and worries than harmony. Danny was still bent over his map of the towers surrounding the building. Lindsay by his side, was adding new dots as one team had finally cleared the Southeast building and was now heading for the one to the South. One could have thought that with all the NYPD cops spread in those towers it would have been quick and easy to find their shooters. But it was without counting on the regular robberies, murders and all violence spreads among the city that had kept the major part of them away from this place. Although all New York cops had heard than two of their comrades were stranded by snipers, and if the order had been given, in the next minute, New York City would have seen the entire NYPD force drown towards Time Square, and its fateful snipers sites. So, if the city had gone quiet for only one hour, then, yes, the NYPD would have had enough manpower to clear all the buildings, evacuate their friends and surely to get their hands on those who had dared to harm their brothers in arms. But it wasn't, and all the NYPD cops that had heard or crossed the path of Mac Taylor or Stella Bonasera were carefully listening to their radio, hoping in silent prayers for a providential outcome; and like every cop in this city, it was the same hope filling Don Flack, right now.

Sat on the couch, he was listening with hope and anxiety to the radio, eager to hear one lead that would make him go in full action mode, but so far nothing had happened. One more hour had passed since the Chief had come to check on Mac and Stella, and learned the dreadful news. Don never too far, had seen it in Sheldon's eyes when he had exited the room; Mac's chances of survival were diminishing like snow under a burning sun. He cursed. At least with shade, the snow could resist longer, but Mac had what? Nothing. Even Stella could do little for him right now. A new hour had passed, and it seemed that they weren't closer from these bastards than before. He swallowed the hard knot in his throat. His mind had burned Stella's look of fear from the screen before going after Danny, and it had been enough to twist his gut in fear. That panicked look was something he wasn't about to forget, never.

Sighing, he let his tension flowed to his legs and began to slowly tap the carpet with the sole of his foot, and wondered why on earth he had accepted to remain here while the other cops were searching for those bastards. Sure, he knew the Chief wanted him to keep an eye on Danny. Maybe Sinclair had thought that because he had a personal experience with death, he would be able to remain calm and cool, which truthfully had come in handy few hours ago. He smirked, now he was beginning to understand what Mac was feeling every day, having so many people under his command, keeping a check on all of them and be sure none slip to an irremediableend. No wonder his friend seemed tense so much. Don had only been doing it for a day, and he was ready to shoot at the first who would piss him off. _Gee, Mac how you do that? _

Suddenly he stood up, too nervous to remain seated, and paced the lobby. He could feel Sheldon's eyes following him, but he didn't care, he needed to move, to do something, anything to calm his nerves. Don looked at the doc sat in the opposite couch, rummaging through the last reports givenby Adam about the possible angles. But so far, none of them had been able to go to the crime scene, so they couldn't have accurate readings. Don, sighed, he knew all of them like the back of his hand. He had studied and analyzed them as Mac would have done, or he assumed he would have. He knew that his friend, as a former marine, would have had a better knowledge on sniper range and accuracy that he had. He sighed. This lack of knowledge and the CSI inability to go and process the scene were explaining why the NYPD was looking into any buildings so far.

His fists clenched against his side. He had told Danny that their best shot was to remain here and wait for an opportunity. He had seen the struggle his friend had been not to try to pass him a second time and rush to the roof. But right now, he was just feeling the same as Danny. Waiting was killing him. He shook his head, wondering how Stella was doing. More than any of them, she was in the front row seat to witness Mac waning, and that had to be terrible for her. He knew the two of them had a strong bond, and sometimes he had even wondered if it wasn't more than friendship. He swallowed, remembering how Jess and he, had played with the line for a while before they realized what they had. But Mac and Stella were too responsible and cautious for taking any risk, he knew that. He closed his eyes, wondering with fear if today would put an end to his friends' future. His heart knew that none could survive without the other. You couldn't erase ten years of friendship and think the other will survive, it wasn't possible.

"They're going to be okay," said Sheldon as if the ME had read his thoughts.

"I know," answered a bit too harshly Don. He sighed heavily. "Sorry man, I shouldn't have snapped at you."

"Forget about it Don, we're all worrying for Mac and Stella."

Don nodded. "I just wish we had a lead, ya know. Who they are? Why they're doing that to Mac? I mean...despite that thing Stella said about an old grudge against Mac from Iraq, it just seemed too weird. If only we knew how many they are."

"I may have an answer to that," replied a voice which had just exited the elevator.

"Adam? You know?" Don exclaimed bemused as he looked at the lab tech standing before the elevator. "How...?"

"Well according to ballistic and since we got one of their weapons, we can count six possible shooters so far." Adam looked at Don and Sheldon, before he set his case near him.

"Six, damn it! It's just like Mac said, a well prepared crossfire."

"How are they?" asked suddenly Adam, his eyes mirroring the same worries than his friends.

"It's not looking good for Mac," intervened Sheldon.

"Yeah we have to hurry, what else do you have?" continued Danny as he stepped closer to the group.

"I looked at the rifle you send. It's a Remington 700P. Can shoot to eight hundred yards without trouble. The boss was right," he sighed. "Though he's always." His brows creased.

A long painful silence filled the small assembly at Adam's words, reminding them of the absence of their boss and second in command.

"So what I can tell it's that if any one of you had gone on the roof, he'd be history by now, cause there're at least five other guns aimed at the cabin right now, and seeing the one we uncovered, there're all equipped with the high tech state of the art in shooting. Those who prepared this crossfire haven't forgotten any details."

"We got the point Adam," replied dryly Danny, as he exchanged an understanding look with Don. If his friend hadn't been there to stop him, he would be dead now, and Lindsay would have to raise Lucy alone. "What else do you have?" he said, his sight back on the young lab tech, today was a day he had the time to lament on his mistake, no, he had friends to save.

"How do you know that...?" began Adam, frowning.

"Because you wouldn't have come for so little, and losing Mac's time for nothing," replied dryly Danny, it was time to get the kid to focus, they had no time for his poker showdown of his ability.

"Right, sorry. I processed the laptop that was with the gun, and I discovered it was remotely controlled."

"You kidding, right?" huffed Danny. "What do you mean, Adam?"

"I mean that maybe we're looking in the wrong direction. It's possible to think that there's only one shooter."

"One shooter? Adam? You got to be joking?" said Danny.

"No he ain't Danny," replied Don, his brows furrowed with exasperation. "Cause he knows he would get me pissed off, if he doesn't stop making his show."

Lindsay walked between them, and shook her head. "In other words, cut to the crap, Adam, we don't have time today to praise your solution. Mac can't wait any more," she spoke, her anxiety increasing with each minute passing.

The young lab tech looked at them with an apologetic stare. "Sorry, I think all the guns are connected to a big network, and if I can jammed it, we can get Mac and Stella out of there." He raised his eyes to the ceiling.

"Why haven't you said so?" voiced Danny, his arms shaved the air before him. "What ya need?"

"Time?" tried Adam.

"Sheldon?" asked Danny as he turned toward the ME. If there's one person that knew Mac's chances of survival it was him.

The doc sighed, feeling several pairs of anxious looks on him. "Two to three hours. Beyond that point it will only depend on his strength left, but with the amount of blood he already lost, I wouldn't bet on it." He clenched his jaw. "We got to get to him real fast now."

"You heard him, Adam," said Danny. "Two hours, like that we can get Mac to a hospital and be sure he's alright."

"Okay." Adam grabbed his case and laptop and sat near a small table. He'd better hurry.

_**xxx**_

He hadn't rested. She knew it. She could feel him in her arms thrashing around, restlessly moving. After he had woken up in a start from what she had assumed was another nightmare, she had proposed him to get more comfortable. She had pretexted that if he lay his back against her, she would get his warmth as well and both would be okay. Although she hadn't been sure he would buy her excuse, he had agreed anyway. She smiled, she had even caught the glimpse of a grateful look in his eyes. But now as he was snuggled in her embrace, her arms tightly wrapped around him, and his burning head resting on her chest, she felt him muffling a slight groan for the third time in the last ten minutes.

"Mac?" she asked, her voice filled with worries. She lowered her gaze, but could only see his damp hair messily stuck to his head. His heart was beating fast, and she could feel him shivering from the burning fever smoldering through his body.

"Yeah, sorry." Damn it, now his restless sleep was bugging her._ Great job, Mac. _

He blinked, trying to avoid a rolling bead of sweat dripping into his eye. His entire body was on fire, and for the last hour he had tried to find a welcomed sleep, but had failed. His mind had wickedly replayed again and again the images of those charred corpses before him. He sighed, trying to muffle his tired breath, he didn't want Stella to notice his discomfort. He didn't want her to worry more than she was already in. Sometimes, the corpses he was seeing, were even talking in his nightmare, asking for revenge, for his blood, asking why he had killed them. He closed his eyes, trying once again to shave these dark thoughts. He had dealt with this a long time ago, and he thought he was done with it. It was useless to think about it again. But, nevertheless, even when his mind was telling him it was vain to think about it, the images were back to haunt him. He swallowed and tried to take a deep breath, but his weary lungs seemed unwilling to cooperate, and he managed only to get a rasping breath. Every part of his body he could think of was burning, and moving was becoming very hard, as if his knees and elbows were glued. He was falling apart, and his body was giving up on him.

"You're hurting?" Said Stella, not really asking, she was sure he was. His way to move or to take small deep breaths, even if some were just for her not to be too suspicious, others were clear indication he was getting worse, and there was nothing she could do about it.

"Nah, just a small headache," he quipped. "Sorry if I bugged you," he half lied. She had enough in her mind already than to take care of a lost cause. In fact, he felt as if his head was about to explode and something was telling him it wasn't far from the truth.

"Your pain is mine, Mac. And you're not bugging me. I'm just worried, but I guess you know that."

He puffed with pain and tried to hide a wince as a new wave of headache assaulted him. The small light coming from the louver became unbearable, and his eyes closed under the pain, hot blades spiking through his brain.

"Mac," asked Stella with worries, noticing immediately, his body tensing from the pain. "What's goin' on, Mac?" she repeated, as he was delaying his answer.

"Huh...?" he took a rasping breath, and blinked. He squinted through the haze covering his vision, but things were moving too quickly around him. "I'm okay Stella," he tried.

"I don't beli-..." she started before his weak voice cut her off.

"Just...just...ow..." his voice slurred as a new wave of tearing pain jolted him. He clenched his fists, trying to resist to the hot iron pain, darkness calling his name to join them. Then, his faint voice came out. "Just...ah...just a...headache." It was hard to concentrate and talk, he was so damn tired.

"Mac, it's not that small, tell me what's goin' on?" she begged. She could feel his heart rate pounding madly and his body arching in pain in her arms. She snuggled her cheek against his, telling him that she was there, he wasn't alone in his fight. His veins madly pulsed beneath his burning sweaty skin and to her cheek.

"Don't...ow...don' worry, Carter...ah... they can't getta..." he slurred. His eyes closed again but with more strength now. He had the sickening feeling he was falling and couldn't stop his fall. Everything was spinning around him. He let out a weak moan and gripped at whatever was around.

Her heart throbbed between her ears as she felt his left hand clinging to hers as if he was afraid to fall. "Mac? What is it? You called me Carter, Mac?" she pleaded, her anxiety high in her voice. She lay a hand over his burning forehead, keeping his head against her as he was slightly shaking. "Mac? Please, answer me?"

The cool of her hand on his forehead slowly made its way to his feverish mind, and the world slowed down for a moment. "...ah, Stell?" he murmured, his tone lost and slurring as he tried to hang on to this reality.

"Hold on, Mac," she encouraged him, but her eyes were burning as she could feel his life slowly withering.

"Can't... tired..." he mumbled his voice fading away.

"I know, Mac. I know you're tired, but you got to hold on, just a little okay?" Squeezing tightly his hand, she lay it over his heart, her arm nestled over his chest. She tightened her hold around him, her soft arms wrapping around his shivering body. A small wince escaped her own lips when she torn on her own gash on her arm. But she quickly forgot about the pain, her attention drawn to her dying friend. Her eyes burning, her chin rested on his hot forehead, mixed with the sweat and blood of his hair.

"Got...to stop the fire...stop fire..." he rambled, his lips emitting weak moans of agony.

Thin lines of sweat slid from his temples to his nape and wetted his torn t-shirt as she tightened even more her arms around his frail body. He was fading away, she could feel it. Her heart wrenched in pain at that sudden realization. "Hang on, Mac. Just a little," she murmured to his ear.

"Stell....cold....so cold," he moaned, his eyes now two thin lines tried desperately to remain open.

"I know, Mac. I know." His head lolled to the side and she couldn't suppress a lonely tear escaping the corner of her eye. He was slowly fading away and there was nothing she could do. "Please stay, Mac. The team's going to find something. You can't leave me, please."But her words died in the small darkness of the cabin as his whole body sagged limply against her. Instinctively, her hand went to his neck, searching and probing his carotid. _Please God,_ she prayed, _please, make him be alive. _

Her fingers slid on his sweaty, burning skin and finally found a slow pulse. "Thank you," she whispered to the ceiling. "You hold on, Mac," she added for her partner as she pulled her phone and dialed Hawkes.

"Sheldon, his pulse is slow, it's too slow," she started feverishly.

"Stella? I...I'm sorry," answered the ME, in a sad tone. "Is Mac conscious?"

"He was for a moment, but...but he's...God Sheldon, he called me Carter. What's going on?" she spoke out of fear.

"Listen, Stella, it's not a bad thing. It's not his concussion, I think it's still the fever," reassured the ME. He knew things weren't looking good for Mac, but he had to reassure her. She couldn't break now.

"But we got the round out and I thought...I thought..." her voice trailed off, as she looked down at Mac pale face.

"Yes you did Stella, we bought him some time, but..."

"But what, Sheldon?" she had taken the bullet out, and he had gently gulped down the pills, so why the fever was still running?

"I'm sorry, Stell. It's not about the bullet right now. He's weak and..." the ME sighed. "He's running out of time."

"But we did the right thing, Sheldon, didn't we?" She asked, her heart pulsing beneath her temples. She had done what Sheldon had asked, she had even hurt Mac more in the process, and now he was telling her that it wasn't enough.

"Yes, but with his blood loss and the previous fever, I believe he's not as resistant as he should Stell, I'm sorry," came out the sad voice of the ME.

"What can we do?" she asked desperately. She had to do something. Surely there was something Sheldon could ask her to do. She had taken a bullet out of his trembling body, so she could do anything right now, right?

She heard a heavy sigh on the line. "Get him comfortable Stell."

The ME's words stabbed her like a sword through her heart. She stared blankly at the dark wall before her."Comfortable?" she repeated, her voice pleading. "Sheldon, there must be something we can..."

He cut her short, trying to make her understand the hard truth; Mac Taylor could really not make it this time.

"No," she muffled as tears welled down freely to her cheeks.

"I'm sorry, Stella. There's nothing we can do right now," Sheldon admitted with pain. "Adam is working on a solution to disarm everything, and Danny asked him to be ready in no less than an hour."

"An hour? Can't he get it sooner?"

"Though the kid is a genius, he has limits, I'm sorry." He sighed. "And right now he's working his ass up to get it done to meet that deadline."

"What deadline, Sheldon? Do you mean Mac? Is that you that estimated this?"

She heard Sheldon sighed tiredly on the other side. "Sorry I didn't want to worry you more."

"Damn it Sheldon! I'm worried sick already. I'm the one with Mac right now! So if there's something I should know about him, it's surely hell that!" she snapped with anger. How the hell Sheldon was deciding what was good to keep from them. Damn it, they weren't gone for a day and their teammate were already taking the helm. She knew deep down, he was right, but she couldn't suppress that mad anger soaring through her chest. They should have told her. _Damn it! _If she had known that Mac could... _God, _she would have told him. She didn't want him to leave her without knowing. She knew it was selfish of her, but she wanted to tell him before...before... Hot tears burned her eyes. She couldn't lose him. No, it was a nightmare, and she was going to wake up soon. She took a deep, trembling breath, but she didn't wake up. No, the same gloomy cabin where she had dragged her partner hadn't vanished into thin air. It was still there, and in her arms the burning body of her waning partner.

"Now listen carefully, Sheldon," she said with contained anger. "Is there anything Mac or I should know before I hang up?"

She heard a long silence on the other side of the line. She knew he was probably feeling guilty for not warning her, but she had no time to take care of him, her priority was Mac, and she might have just lost her last opportunity to talk to him.

"We're all expecting you in an hour," he dropped apologetically.

"Count on both of us to be there," she added, praying to be right, and clearly stating she wasn't giving up on Mac, not yet.

She hung up furious, her heart wrenched in pain. She knew it wasn't Sheldon's fault that she felt so miserable right now. He couldn't know she loved Mac more than life itself, she had never told him. She had been too discreet towards her partner to show the real affection she had for him, so it was evident that the team wouldn't have noticed it either, she assumed. She closed her eyes a moment before her attention went back on Mac, who was now mumbling things she had no idea in his restless sleep. Her arms desperately wrapped around his shivering body as if she could keep him in this world, hindering his fall into the dark abyss of death.

_**xxx**_

"Adam!" Danny voiced impatiently as his urgent steps led him directly near the feverish lab tech bent over his laptop.

"Not ready yet," replied the young lab tech typing on his keyboard, without even looking up at Danny.

A wide frown creased Danny's forehead as his gaze shaved the lobby and noticed Sheldon exiting another room. The ME slumped on the couch, his brows furrowed.

"We said two hours, Adam," he huffed, his fists clenched at his side. He was still wearing his bullet proof jacket and was glancing between Lindsay bent over the map and Adam on his computer. "It's two hours later! What ya got? We'll go from there."

"I know, I know," continued Adam, "And I'm doing my best."

"Then, it's not enough! Mac needs us now," said Danny.

"You know, pressure won't make me type faster, boss, huh...I mean D-boss," smirked Adam.

"Oh no," continued Danny. "I'm sure it does." On his words he took a step further, showing his best pissed off face to the lab tech.

"Sorry, Danny. But you're not Mac. You don't scare me," quipped the lab tech, continuing to type on his keyboard. His eyes glued to his screen, he didn't notice the real anger starting to build up in his friend's face. "You should know a good work needs perfection," he added.

"Yeah, and what ya think Mac needs right now, huh?"

"Uh," Adam frowned. "I'm...almost...done." On those words, he typed on more commands and looked up straight into Danny's crystal eyes affecting a boyish grin. "Done."

Danny gave him a perplexed look and waited for a second to confirm that he had heard him right. "You're done?"

"Yeah told ya. It's done."

"What... What did you do exactly?"

"Uh... I'm in his network, well, kinda..." his voice trailed off as he took a sheepish smile.

"What ya mean kinda?" asked Danny.

"Meaning you can go up there, but you better test it first with a gizmo." Adam pointed at the small steel case at his feet. "I ask Jean to bring it to me when I started to test our sniper firewall."

"And?" asked Danny feeling his gut twitching. When Adam was taking that kind of precaution it meant the kid wasn't sure of his work.

"Fitfy-fifty that I really got into his network..." his voice trailed off, as his blue eyes met Danny's, remorse filling them. "Can't be sure he hadn't placed any booby trap along the way, I checked but...sorry, Danny. It's all I haveon short notice."

Danny looked down to Adam's computer and glanced at the steel case. It wasn't a good news. He would have preferred to evacuate Mac and Stella from his hell without relying on bets with computer. He sighed, but until now it was their best shot. _Fifty-fifty,_ his mind repeated. It was still better than nothing. "Okay, Adam. Is it working right now?"

"Yes, I'm already in..." he paused, thinking as his hand brushed his hair back. "I might need to adjust it but it's ready."

Danny nodded. He grabbed the steel case, and stuck it under his arm. "Then, let's go!" He gave a quick glance at Lindsay who had sealed her lips during their conversation, and grinned to reassure her as she mouthed a silent 'be careful'. "We go with the plan," he told her. "Be careful too."

She nodded and the next second she was looking at his back, climbing the stairs three by three. Frowning, Lindsay walked to Sheldon who shook his head.

"I call them," the ME said, avoiding her stare.

Her lips tight, she wanted to ask him what was bugging him, but she had herself a place to be, so she silently patted his shoulder and headed to the elevator. Danny's plan had to work, she prayed.

_**xxx**_

His feet stomped the carpet as Danny stormed out of the stairs. Finally, they had good chances to get their friends back. But he couldn't suppress a shiver as he had seen fear and worries in Lindsay's eyes. He hoped Adam was right, and that they would be working with the good half with them, otherwise he would be history, and Mac... He shook his head, he couldn't think like that, not now._ Focus Danny. Let's get Mac and Stella out. _Mac and Stella needed him, and he intended to be there, whatever the odds were. He pressed on his radio. "Don? Adam's ready."

"I'm already there Danny," he heard his friend yelled from the corridor.

A smile grazed his lips. Danny turned at the corner and headed to the door leading outside. He noticed Don was already there, and the detective was now wearing the same bulletproof jacket he had, his brown suit jacket long gone. Both men nodded at each other as Danny arrived near him. A panting Adam, soon joined them. The lab tech bent behind them, cradling his laptop in his arms as he tried to get his breath back.

With a quick nod to Danny, Don pushed the door open and stepped outside, closely followed by the young CSI. Their blood rushed behind their ears as they stared at the ladder separating them from the roof. Danny took a deep breath as he grabbed the small toy car that Adam was handing him, and was careful not to move the small camera attached to its top. Then, clenching his teeth, and nestling the toy under his arm, he began to climb the outside ladder that led to the roof.

The sun was low outside. Its golden rays lazily grazed the top of the small towers far in front of Danny as his face emerged from the ladder and to the roof. Quickly, he deposited the small toy on the concrete and climbed down to shell back into his position, near the opened door. He crouched near Don. If everything was going as planned, the small car would go directly to the cabin where Mac and Stella were, proving to everyone that Adam had indeed jammed their opponent's network.

"Let's pray it works," murmured Danny as his eyes looked at Don and then at Adam. "You know what to do Adam."

The young lab tech nodded and began to drive the car through his laptop. On his screen, Don and Danny could follow the toy car. Slowly, it passed the yellow ruban now lazily swang by the wind and grazing the floor. A knot formed in their throat as the car passed right next to the fallen cop, his face to the ground, his blood almost dried on the concrete.

"Mitchel," whispered Don. "I met him last year after he had changed from precinct to come to ours. A good guy. Always ready to party and make friends," he sighed. The guy hadn't had the time to realize he had been hit, the shot having taken a part of his skull out.

Danny squeezed Don's shoulder. "We gonna get him, Don." His eyes burned with determination. Killing a cop had never been taken too lightly in the NYPD history, furthermore, when two more lives were hanging in the balance.

Don nodded, his gaze back on the screen. Only the wind could be heard as three pairs of eyes scanned the small screen while the car was getting close to the little cabin.

"Sounds okay," muffled Adam, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips as he glanced at Danny, his friend's eyes full of hope.

Then, a shot rang into their ears like a deadly sentence. It echoed through the quiet towers, and bounced back by the warm afternoon wind. With horror, the car jerked away from his path and fell upside down, the image on the screen frozen by the shot.

"Bastard," growled angrily Danny. "Adam? What the hell was that? I thought it..."

"Uh, wait a sec, Danny," cut Adam as he typed on a few commands. "It's alright, it was a delayed feedback. I'm in now. That's why I wanted to try with the car, ya know just in case."

Danny stared at the lab tech confused. "What? You sure?"

"Yeah, trust me Danny, it's working right now. I'm in the system. You can go. I control his guns," said Adam as he pointed toward the ladder.

Danny frowned and glanced at Don, expecting some advices.

"Hey, don't look at me, Danny boy," Don replied, his hands before him. "You're the only one that can understand his geek language."

Danny looked up at the iron ladder. If Adam was wrong, they were going to be the prettiest baits for their shooter. In the other hand, if the kid was right; it was Mac and Stella's get out of hell ticket. He smirked, so why was he worried? He glanced seriously at Don, and pushed back his glasses on his nose. "Okay."

Taking a deep breath, he stood up and stepped to the ladder, his heart beating madly behind his ears. He put his foot on the first iron bar of the ladder. "Let's get Mac and Stella back home."

Don smiled as he stepped right behind Danny. _Who wants to live forever anyway? _They both thought at the same time.

_**...TBC

* * *

**_

**A/N:** Well, this chapter was a bit longer, but it was needed. Now, don't forget to let me know what you thought of it, and thanks for reading :) have a great weekend

And stay tuned for the update of _The Journey of the Broken Hearts_ this weekend.


	5. Wicked revenge

**A/N: **Okay, again thanks to everyone for your wonderful reviews, you've all made my day, guys. You rock!!

And thanks to Rosa Atrus for the little talk about Iraq and the data given

**Warning:** some death images implied.

**Summary:** An unexpected enemy presents himself as he wants his revenge on Mac and set the team up in a deadly game of cat and mouse. Angst, SMacked, team friendship and comfort ensue. SMacked, D/L, Flack, Sheldon and later Adam.

**Disclaimer:** I don't own anything, beside the characters I created for this story. CSI NY belongs to CBS and Jerry Bruckeimer.

* * *

Stella stared in pain at Mac. His chest was heavily pressed against hers and she could feel his rasping breathing, vibrating through his body. Chills of fear and torment ran down her spine at the small tremors his body was offering every time his chest heaved in pain. A feeling of guilt and total helplessness coursed through her veins as she could do little for him but watch his life slowly withering in her arms. Delicately, her warm fingers brushed his damp hair stuck on his sweaty skin. He shivered lightly at the touch, before his lips emitted a weak moan of pain, his eyelids twitching from another bleak nightmare.

She was scared; scared like hell of losing him this time. She had never seen him so weak and vulnerable at the same time. His body was wet from the sweat the burning fever was provoking, and he had trembled more in her arms in the last twenty minutes that she had stopped counting. She refused to believe the worst could happen, but the fear kept growing in the pit of her stomach, eating at her every time her eyes lay on his frail body; and now the small knot had turned into a big hole, as if she was losing her soul while he was fading away. She knew Mac wouldn't back down from a fight, but she knew that when your strength had left you, and your were left with nothing to fend for yourself, no reasons to live, then the struggle was even harder. She closed her eyes, praying that he knew he had something to live for, that he knew she was there, waiting for him.

The memory from An Najaf had obviously shaken him more than he wanted to say, and guilt had surged and struck him as hard as that damned bullet had pierced through his flesh. If he really believed he was guilty for those deaths, then his will could diminish, and he could really give up. She could lose him. She closed her eyes, trying to escape at the dark images that had printed before her; Mac in a coffin. No. She refused to see it. Fear crept even more into her heart and her arms pressed against his burning chest.

She had witnessed with pain when he had hit rock bottom after Claire's death. It hadn't been pretty. As tough as he had been, he had fallen hard, and although she had helped him at the time, it had taken both their strength to get him through that terrible nightmare. Of course, An Najaf couldn't be compared to Claire's death, but the guilt was even worst. In Claire's case, he had fallen because he fought he should have been with her when the towers collapsed; but with An Najaf, she didn't know what to expect. If he really believed he was guilty of killing innocents, furthermore women and kids, what were the odds that he wants to fight for his life after that? She sighed, still staring at his pale face beaded in sweat; and now she was unable to reach him. She didn't know if he was aware that she was there, that his reason for fighting, for living should be because he was loved. He couldn't know that as she had never taken the time to tell him, and now remorse and guilt wrenched her heart at the thought that he could leave her without knowing.

She closed her eyes, and heard with pain his uneven, hoarse breathing coming out of his weary lungs. Heat radiated through his burning body, and she was too, beginning to sweat in this small, closed cabin. In the last hour, she had heard him mumbling weird words and orders to take position and even trying to stop the explosion. Obviously, he was back in An Najaf, and not for the good memories. She tightened her hold around his burning, sweaty body as he thrashed around in her arms. She was afraid his erratic movements could reopen his wound and weaken him even more. She let out a heavy sigh. She was running out of ideas to help him, and she prayed that Adam had finally found that breakthrough they were waiting for. Gently, she rested her cheek against his warm, hot face, humming softy the only lullaby she had known as a kid before his lips parted, offering a silent moan to the obscurity. She slowly rocked him, watching intensely his face. Then, with a small relief, she felt him relaxing a little, before he finally stopped moving and his face relaxed as if his heart rate was following the pace of her voice.

"Stell..." he called so weakly that she had troubles to understand his word. "Stell-...a."

With a throbbing pain, she tenderly ensnared her arms around him, feeling his heart beating more slowly. "Shhh...I'm here, Mac. I'm right here." Softly, she kissed his hair, her eyes praying to the ceiling to let him live, while she gently rocked him back and forth. "Shhh..."

His burning cheek dried her small dripping tears as she felt him weakening in her arms, his body, lessening, withering as the first flower too eager to blossom caught at the end of the winter.

"Not your fault, Mac..." she repeated, whispering in his ear, and lovingly caressing his cheek. "You're a good man, Mac, you have to believe me."

"Ah," he moaned in a tearing whimper**,** fighting to breathe.

Pain mixed with sorrow soared through her heart, she couldn't bear to see him hurting so much. Her eyes filled with hot tears, she pressed her lips against his burning forehead and gently kissed it. "Hold on, Mac, please, hold on a little. Our team will be here soon, just hold on." She soothed, her own voice losing its strength as she was desperately witnessing her partner's slowly slipping away from her. She continued her slow rock. Her head rested against his, and she softly hummed, her voice filled with strangled sobs. She couldn't lose him right now, not now, never. "Please, Mac. You have to fight..."

_**xxx**_

He was on fire. But he wasn't surprised, the heat of the desert had crushed a lot of his men already, and although they had a tough training, none were prepared to this kind of heat. He wiped quickly the sweat beading his forehead with the back of his hand, and began to walk, his BDU sticking to his wet skin. His knees popped reluctantly, telling him he was thirsty and he should think about giving his body a break. He cursed. What kind of break could he get here in the desert, when his men were fighting few yards away from him? He looked around. Everywhere his sight lay it was to discover more dunes, swept by the dusty wind of the desert. Only the place where they were, was smeared with small yellow barracks now empty. This place had been a small town before they arrived, and now it was just another crumbled ruin. His stomach churned as his vision blurred a little and the desert grew dark around him, the light fading. He squinted and realized it had to be his imagination. Then, the powerful heat assaulted him again, and he was back in the desert.

He gasped, surprised. Yes, he was back in An Najaf though this was his past, he realized. How could it be? He remembered being with Stella and the two of them talking about going some place for... He shook his head, not sure why he couldn't remember after that. They were in an elevator, and... He took a deep breath, trying to remember. But his head was on fire, and it hurt like hell just to think and breathe. He took of his helmet and blinked at the burning sky darting its powerful rays into his eyes. With a deep sigh, he brushed back his damp hair and sank his helmet back on his head. The gear pressed painfully into his skull. He took a long breath, trying to reduce his headache. If he had been with Stella why was he here now? He had to be dreaming again. But why? Was he sick? Or dead? The cold, dreadful realization sank in him. If he was dead then, why was he here, in Iraq? That make no sense. He tiredly pinched at the bridge of his nose, and more sweat dripped from his forehead to his fingers.

The call from one of his men pulled him out of his dark thoughts. He nodded toward Carter and followed him. His weary boots deepened into the burning sand, and each step was taking his strength away. The Corporal had told him the fire had been quenched, and they could come closer to the burned ruins. He sighed. Even though he was about to give the order to end the life of their enemies, the news of their own blowing up had been a stab in his chest. How could fighters blow themselves up because they had lost ground was totally unimaginable to him? He sighed again. This whole war was really getting to his nerves, and he was more and more caressing the idea of leaving the Corps. He had given it a lot of time already, and now he was thinking it could be time to move on, and maybe use his degree and do something less destructive. He stopped dead in his thoughts, but this was his past. He had left the Corps sometimes after that. His brows creased in doubts. He shouldn' be here. What the hell was he doing here?

He rounded a corner and saluted one of his men by a small nod. The guy had his face covered with soot as his position had been the closest of the insurgents, and nodded to his superior as he came next to him.

"You okay, Jim?" Mac asked, his eyes staring at the thin, crimson smear staining his upper arm. In his memory, he remembered the guy had never been badly injured, so he was going to be fine.

Jim spoke and Mac recognized the words he had expected all along. His memory was slowly bringing him back pieces of that day. "I'll be okay, Major. Just a scratch." Jim pointed at the blackened wreck few feet away from them. "But I guess they won't."

Mac followed his gaze, and stared bitterly at the black pieces of what had been a building, a black smoke still escaping its open gut. He bit his lower lip; a gruesome feeling crept up his spine and nestled in the pit of his stomach. There was something creepy about this place. He couldn't remember why, but his gut twitching, that had never been a good sign.

"Let Charlie replaced you and the doc see that 'scratch'," He heard him say. Yes, he had said those words, but it had been ages ago. "I don't want you to get an infection with this heat."

"Aye, Sir." the marine replied as he looked at Mac with a small smile. "We got 'em, Sir," he stated proudly.

"Yeah, we did. Did you find Faisal Al-Sistani?" he asked as he stared at a pile of what had been bricks of sand, and were now covered with a thick, black soot. The leader of this group should have been with his men. So, he hoped after all this delay he would come up with a good news for the HQ.

The marine nodded and pointed toward a corner of the falling building where two marines were pulling corpses out of the smoldering fire, and were lying them side by side.

Mac squeezed his fists, his stomach churning. "Thanks." Carter by his side, he continued toward the marines taking care of the unpleasant task to gather the dead corpses, wanting to know if they had found the body of Faisal Al-Sistani. With a sigh, he glanced to his left, and saw two other groups of his men pacing the ruins in search of eventual survivors. Their duty was also to attend to any wounded and transfer them to a hospital the moment they were becoming their prisoners. It was part of the international convention on prisonner of war, and he was glad, after all the atrocity he had seen in fights, that at least some humanitarian rights were still in use. He just hoped that their guys were given the same treatment if they were captured behind the enemy's line.

Unconsciously, his tongue licked his dried lips in hope of giving back some moisture. But it was vain, even his mouth was dry, and instead, his tongue met the repelling taste of the grinded sand. Nausea invaded his mouth. That war was over for him. Why was he back here? In Iraq? His steps brought him closer to the gloomy display of their victory, and his gut twitched madly. Lined up against a fallen piece of wall, his men were lying the burned corpses of their enemies.

"Oh God," screamed one of his men, drawing instantly his attention.

He turned towards the scream and spotted Davis. The man was in his late twenties and had experienced fire several times before this day, so he was surprised to see him react like that. Mac quickly walked toward him, though his mind was yelling not to go there, that his place was somewhere else, somewhere in his past. His brain repeated him that he should be running the other side and leave this war behind him. He swallowed, he had to know what had scared Davis.

"What is it, Davis?"

But when he joined the marine, the man looked at him, with a burning anger mixed with guilt. At his feet, and under a pile of dark, burned woods, lay the charred corpses of a woman and a little girl. Mac felt his world crumbled around him. They had killed civilians. How could it be possible? They had checked all the exit and evacuated the place as soon as they had been trapped by the insurgents. Then, he looked up and saw disgust glowing in Davis' eyes. His man clenched his teeth before him as if he was considering him responsible for what they had done. But he didn't know; they had checked everything. These women shouldn't be there. Davis turned around and slowly left without a word.

"Sir, there're others here," his mind caught in pain. He turned towards Carter, and the young corporal bit his lips, tears threatening his eyes as he pointed at something behind a blackened panel.

"How could we do that, Sir? This isn't supposed to happen. I thought we were the good guys?" mumbled the corporal as his eyes avoided his superior.

Mac stared at him in disbelief. He had no answer to that. He was just as powerless and angry as his men were. They had checked everything, evacuated everyone. There shouldn't be anybody but insurgents here. His stomach blazed in fire, disgust and guilt filling his body. He had failed. He had failed his men, and they would now bear the guilt for these deaths. His body burned like the charred corpses before him. He was responsible for all of this. He had led all of them into this. His burning eyes rested on the blackened charred face of the little girl. Then, he saw with horror the face slowly turning toward him, and the charred eyelids open to reveal white globes that stared back at him.

"You killed me!" sobbed the little girl. "You deserved to die."

He stepped back in horror, his hands before him. This couldn't be real. This was his past. _You killed me,_ echoed the little voice in his mind. He stared at his men around him who were now staring at him angrily, blaming him for changing them into murderers. _You deserved to die,_ their voices repeated in unison. _You've let us down, Major. You've left us down._

"This isn't real!" he screamed. "I'm not here!" he took another stepped back and stumbled on a charred body of a woman. His face inches of the burned head. His breath came out with short rasps. Her eyes shot open, and the lips parted in a gruesome smile.

"You deserved to die," she grumbled.

Mac tried to get up, but he was stuck to the ground, his fingers deepening madly into the sand; he couldn't move. _What the...?_ Then, the sand around him began to sink, sucking the corpses, the ruins and his men. The blue sky disappeared to be replaced by a dark night without stars. His heart beat madly behind his ears as he tried to get up, but he couldn't. His face stuck to the burning sand, he realized in fear he was paralyzed, his body unable to comply to his orders. His breathing accelerated.

He was scared. What was happening to him? He was with Stella. He shouldn't have come back here, he shouldn't have looked at those charred faces. "Stell..." he mumbled, feeling his forces leaving him. "Stell...-a."

Then, the soft voice of his partner seeped through his aching brain. _"I'm...here, Mac." _He felt his strength coming back a little. His head throbbed, on fire. The burning heat of the sand was broiling his cheek. _"You have to fight, Mac,"_ Stella's voice echoed from very far. He painfully tried to lift his head, to see if he could see her. He had to tell her. There was something important he wanted her to know. She had to know; his end was close, he could feel it. She had to know. But before he could speak again, a charred hand surged from the sand and pulled on his right arm. The pain was excruciating. It was like his arm was ripped from him. He screamed in pain, but another arm grabbed his legs and pulled him inside the sand. His vision became blurry as his head was drowned further into the sand, and hot grains rolled into his eyes. Soon, his face was covered by the grainy, burning soil, and he couldn't breathe. His lungs were on fire, his mouth dry and full of burning sand. He felt more hands tugging at his body, and pulling him down with rage. The weight on his back increased. With horror, he realized that the sand was almost covering him entirely, his screams muffled by the grainy soil, before he was swallowed by the desert; his mind screaming only a name: _Stella!_

_**xxx**_

Danny set foot on the roof, his eyes darting in all directions in case of a wild shot, but he could only hear the whimper of the wind blowing in his ears. He repressed a small shiver and looked back at Don.

His friend climbed up the ladder right behind him, his senses in alert, his sight sweeping the roof in search of a needed shelter.

"Don't wait for me, Danny," Don spoke, as he stepped on the roof as well. "You're a sitting duck like that."

Nodding, Danny started into a wild dash of laces in hopes of making him a more difficult target. His heart was beating so fast in his chest, he prayed it wasn't going to burst out in any minute.

_**xxx**_

The man watched with scorn as a new players had decided to join his party. His eyes darted an evil grin toward the blond cop who wanted to take away his rightful vengeance. Taylor had to die, painfully and without the help of his friends, like his own had died. He didn't deserve to be helped. Though, he had let that golden, curled woman be with him, hoping it would add to his stress, but now that this new cop had appeared and with him another one, it was out of question that further help was brought to the former marine. He eyed in hatred the cops rapidly making their way toward his prey, lacing and running to avoid his weapons. But it was vain. He had gathered himself this network and had made sure it would be able to shot to anything moving, no matter the pace or circles made.

No, he wasn't gonna let Taylor escaped him. He had waited too long to find him and make him pay. Today, was Taylor's final day, no matter what.

On the screens before him, his reflection torn by his rage appeared in a shadow. "So you decided to join the party detectives." He smirked at the two detectives now on the roof. "Well let's see how you dance then."

His lips curled in a hatred scorn, he typed a few commands on his keyboard. Those two would join Taylor sooner than expected.

_**xxx**_

Silence echoed on the roof as only the wind hissed a painful whimper. Don was running madly, winding to be sure he wouldn't be an easy target. If Adam was right they had nothing to fear, but as he arrived near the fallen cops, he wasn't so sure anymore; and that creepy wind hissing and blowing in his ears was freaking him out. He took a deep breath feeling his muscles tensed under the waiting shot. He swallowed, since he had come out that ladder that was all he was waiting. That damned fateful shot that would take out Danny or him, with one cold round. His eyes darted nervously toward Mitchel, he could see how fast the shot had taken out his comrade; single shot to the head, and nothing else to talk about. It was like he couldn't erase the memory of those dreadul shots. The one that had taken Mac out, sending him flying into the air, or those who had tried to take his comrades too, and then there was the one for Mitchel. Clenching his jaw, he shaved away those dreadful thoughts that would hinder his reflexes and kept rushing forward, pushing his body to the limit. The cabin's door was close, and behind, his best friends waiting for help. _C'mon,_ he scolded himself. _Get__ 'em out._

Danny saw the door growing in his vision. He was almost there. He swallowed feeling the knot formed in his stomach increasing as each of his steps echoed through the silent roof. He knew that the minute he would stop hearing his shoes tramping down, then, he or Don would be dead. A gust of cold wind cooled his hot, sweaty forehead as it brushed his face and pushed on his legs. He shot a quick glance back at Don, fifteen feet behind him, and swallowed the hard lump in his throat. They were almost there and no shot had been heard. Did Adam's jam work? Or the guy was playing with them, teasing, and waiting for them to be at the door to shoot them and sign a final ticket toward hell for Mac and Stella. The pounding became louder behind his ears as he tried to remain focused on his goal: getting Mac and Stella out and alive. If the shooter had played with them, letting them step voluntarily into a trap, then, he had nothing to lose to keep going and try to help Mac. Either way, if Adam had sucked, then he and Don were already dead, so no point to worry, right?

His heart pulsing madly in his throat, Danny stopped dead in front of the door, his blood rushing to his head.

"Stella!" he shouted, not wanting to surprise his friends and get a lost shot for scaring her. "It's Danny," he continued, as his hand closed on the handle and with a firm grip woosh the door open.

Without waiting further, he rushed inside, Don on his tail. Then, with a quick move, Don, pushed him forward and closed the door behind them. Their heart beating madly, as their eyes tried to peer through the half obscurity.

"Stella," called Danny, through his rasping breath. His eyes adjusted to the half darkness. An acrid smell of iron lingered in the air, making their stomach heaved._ Blood,_ thought instantly Danny. _God, Mac._

_**xxx**_

A wicked grin plastered on his face, the man pressed on the touch ENTER on his keyboard. He gazed with scorn at his screen, the two detectives almost at the cabin.

"Not yet," he mumbled with happiness at the wreck that was about to be unleashed.

But then, the two detectives stopped for a few seconds at the door and quickly entered the cabin. He frowned not believing his eyes.

"What the..?" he cursed, looking back at the keyboard as he pressed on new commands and realized nothing was working. He glanced at another screen, displaying his network and position of his other guns; none had fired. What was happening? He had built himself that network and the software going with it. He had made sure it would never fail, not today, never. But here it was stuck as nothing responded to his command, then he turned to another screen. On it, he read the last entry he had ordered and discovered a new line between his. A small command that had crumbled his whole plan. Smashing his fist violently into the table, he stood up angrily, thrusting his metallic chair right inside the screens. Yellow sparks blew out from the damage screen as a faint grey smoke rose to the ceiling. _Damn it, Taylor! Damned cops!_ _I'll get you, no matter what, _his mind shouted.

It was those damned cops, it had to be. They were the only one who could have jammed his network without him noticing it. He cursed mentally for having underestimated Taylor's team.

"Next time, I'll make sure we stay alone," he growled between his teeth. He stared at the expensive electronic equipment he had settled in the cozy hotel room. Time to get his things out.

_**xxx**_

The flow of her blood rushing behind her ears, hammered in her head, as Lindsay quickly climbed up the stairs on Sinclair's tail. She smirked, remembering the Chief, saying that if one of his men was involved or about to pass away, he wasn't going to sit and watch. So instead, he had slipped into the same bullet-proof jacket as she was wearing, except his, looked quite smaller on him, she noted with a small smirk. Then, at Adam's signal that he had jammed their shooter, Adam had traced back the last command inside the network and went back to this hotel, 47th floor, room 4715.

She sighed, taking the lift to the 38th had been easy and fast, the total opposite of what they were doing right now. She puffed as she tiredly pushed on her legs and reached the 46th floor, her guns firmly nestled in her hands. Strangely, they had to stop at the 38th floor. Well, all lifts had been stuck at this floor. She had frowned and the Chief had quickly mirrored the same look, thinking the same thing as she did. It was probable that their shooter had jammed the lifts too, hindering their search for him. Hopefully, he would still be there, trying to make his network work when they would arrive in his room. She cursed, hoping she was right, and took another stepped, beads of sweat dripping into her neck and wetting her light, red shirt.

Then, she saw it, the 47th floor. The whole swat team behind her and the Chief stopped as they stepped on the indicated floor. She pressed her back against the wall for a well deserved breath, her gun lifted in front of her face as the swat team passed before her and took the lead through the clean and shiny corridor. She swallowed as each of these men, took great care to watch their surrounding before moving forward, quickly parting the long of the corridor and heading straight toward their objective.

Stepping nervously on her toes, Lindsay followed them, and mentally thanked the man that had thought to put carpet in every corridor. This way, they had better chances to sneak up on him. The swat leader stopped and waved to his men behind to surround the room he had stopped before. Slowly, two men crouched as they passed the door and set on the other side. Nodding to each other, their riffles in hands and aimed at the door, one of them set a small plastic charge around the handle. He looked on the other side and pressed on the trigger.

A small detonation blew in the corridor. The handle exploded and the door jerked freely on its hinges. Four men of the swat team rushed inside the room, their riffles aimed at the smoke before them. Their experienced eyes rapidly scanned the place. From her spot, Lindsay could hear them yelling; "Clear!" one after another until, one of the men finally got out and nodded to the Chief to get in.

Sinclair glanced at Lindsay before he stepped inside the small suite, Lindsay right behind him. As they arrived in the main room, her eyes widened in shock, discovering the multiple screens set in the room, and the computers sparkling, and glowing from a small internal fire. A thick, black smoke was escaping the main unit as their shooter had decided to leave no evidence behind him. She clenched her teeth looking at the men around her. Besides the computers and screens the room was empty, he was gone. _Damn it!_ From far behind her, she heard Sinclair voiced in his radio the APB, and to the downstairs' teams to be alert, and check on everyone getting out of this hotel. She clenched her fists in anger. Sadly, she had the bad feeling that none of them would catch him today. _He's gone, _her mind repeated in pain.

_**xxx**_

"Stella?" In half obscurity, Danny peered to find his friends, his heart rate near critical. _Where are they?_

"Here, Danny," came Stella's muffled voice.

Danny followed the voice that seemed to be down in front of his. When his eyes got accustomed to the weak light, the image before him torn his heart in pain. His boss, and friend, Mac, was lying lifeless in Stella's arms. The right side of his chest was covered with what had been a white dressing, but was now soaked with dark blood and contrasting dreadly with the ashen color of his face. But what really got to him, was his friend's face, sagged on a side, his eyes shut. _They can't be shut,_ shot Danny's mind. _Mac's no sleeper._ His jaw clenched._ We can't be too late!_

"Mac?" he called, his voice trembling through the small tremors his throat offered to the dark place. He kneeled beside his friends. "Oh, God," the words escaped his lips. "Stella..." he looked up to his friend, and discovered Mac's strong, second in command, on the verge of breaking up. Her lips were trembling and her eyes red and filled with heavy tears.

"I can't...I can't wake him up, Danny," she mumbled, desperate, her eyes begging for help. She shivered slightly, and tightened her grip around Mac, as if someone was trying to take him away from her. Her left cheek stroked his as if she could wake him up this way, but it didn't work. As her eyes turned slightly in his direction, Danny saw a smear of blood and sweat glistening over her pale skin. She raised a pair of exhausted eyes on him, avoiding eye contact, her tears welling down now her crimson cheeks. "Can't..." she sobbed in painful tears. "...can't feel his pulse..." she repeated, in a slow mumbling as her face fell back to nest in the crookof Mac's neck.

Don watched paralyzed from the threshold as Danny's trembling hand went to check Mac's throat. He swallowed the threatening pain that hindered his moves but couldn't. If Mac was dead, he just didn't know what he would do. The scene before him slowed down as if time had stopped. He could see Danny's trembling fingers searching for a pulse as they moved from Mac's neck to under his jaw. His heart beat madly behind his ears as the world stood still, Danny's thumb sliding gently over Mac's clammy, bloody skin. _Mac can't... _Then, Danny spoke, but to his horror, Don hadn't heard anything. He breathed loudly, clearing the buzzing sound around him. He saw Danny glancing back at him and then, a faint smile grazed Danny's lips and his voice was clear again.

"He's alive," repeated Danny as he had watched Don becoming suddenly white. No, Mac was still hanging on. _Big Mac's still there, _his mind shot proudly. "Tell 'em to land," he added as he turned to a shivering Stella. "He's holdin' on, Stell. I'm sure Mac's gonna be okay," he said as he patted her shoulder to reassure her. He lowered his face for his eyes to connect with her as she seemed in another world. "Ya know him, Stella...just trying to make a big entrance, huh?" he grinned, trying to pull a smile on her face, and although she didn't smile, she seemed to feel a bit better, her eyes connecting with him for the first time.

From very far, Stella heard Danny's voice repeating that Mac was okay. But she wasn't sure, he wasn't moving and everything around her was a blur. She could only see him, his eyes desperately closed, his arms limp to his side in a silent abandon of life. She was exhausted and unable to move, all her strength was focused to keep him close of her, pressed against her heart in her arms. It was the only way she had found to make him know she was there, waiting for him, and that he had to fight. He had to stay with her, he had to fight. He couldn't leave her, not now, not after she was ready to tell him the truth that laid buried in her heart. No, fate couldn't be that cruel. She swallowed slowly and felt hands trying to lift her up and take Mac away, but she resisted. She wasn't going to let him go. Not now. Never.

Then, Don's voice spoke softly at her ears. "EMS is here, Stell, let them take care of Mac," he whispered as his hands took hold of her arms, and he gently helped her to stand. She saw Danny taking hold of Mac's head and gently resting his limp body on the floor as two EMS guys began to tend to his wounds.

Her knees buckled under her, and she would have crumbled to the ground if Don hadn't put his arm around her shoulder. She was so drained. But her eyes kept watching Mac's pale face, praying to see his eyes open. She was waiting for his smile to graze his face in a brave smile and tell her that he was fine. But he didn't move. No, he was still, too still, her mind echoed. Don gently held her close and pressed a firm hand on her opposite hips to keep her against him. Leaning against his chest, she was grateful for his presence, but now she had to get a hold of herself. She swallowed back her tears as she witnessed his limp body being lifted into a stretcher, his arms drooping loosely to his side. Her heart ached in pain. She had to be strong. She couldn't do less for Mac. He needed her, and time wasn't to grieve. It was a time to fight and stick with him and be sure he knew she was there.

"He's gonna be fine, Stell," Don repeated to reassure her. He breathed softly, his heart beating too fast in his chest.

Don had never seen her like that. She seemed so fragile almost like she was about to break In thin pieces and then, his eyes went back to Mac as the EMS guys were strapping him on a stretcher. Danny helped them to wheel him to the waiting chopper. Slowly, they began to walk behind them, sure that Stella would like to be with him. He was right, as soon as they stepped toward the red helicopter, he felt her steps becoming stronger, and when they arrived next to the door, she was able to walk without his support, a new fire shining behind her emerald gaze. He swallowed, amazed by so much show of will and strength. Mac would be proud of her if he could see her, though he was sure his friend had always felt that way about Stella.

As she climbed inside the chopper and sat beside Mac's stretcher Stella glanced back at her friends watching her with anxiety. She mouthed a small thank you before she cuddled Mac's limp hand in hers. It was cold and clammy, but Mac was a fighter, and although she was scared to death of losing him, she knew he wouldn't give up on her. So, as long as she gently squeezed his hand, talked to him, encouraged him to stay and held on, she prayed he would know that she was there, and would hang on.

The door slid closed and Danny took a step back. He joined Don near the cabin as the chopper took off in powerful gusts of wind, lifting their hair and drying their sweating bodies. He glanced at Don. His friend was looking back inside the cabin. The floor was covered with dried crimson stains and none of them spoke as they stepped inside, their heart beating and still with their friends flying to the Queen of Mercy. Only their eyes spoke as each could see the same fear lurking behind them; the fear of losing one of their own.

_**xxx**_

Pushing the glass door lightly, the man stepped casually in the rumbling streets. He was greeted by the horns honking, and the well known pollution of the cars assaulting his lungs. He wrinkled his nose and stepped down the small stairs. He raised his eyes toward what had been his board game for a while. A deep line carved his face as he watched with disgust a helicopter taking off from his game board. So, Taylor's team had been able to save him this time, but surely they wouldn't be able to save him every time. He was certain that at one point, Taylor would break, and he would make sure he would be there to watch him give his last breath.

The man smiled wickedly as he melted with the mass of New Yorkers walking away from Times Square. No, he wasn't going to let his prey escape him, not after all these years of planning and learning how to make it work. No, he would finish Taylor to be sure he would pay for his family. He would have his revenge, and the former marine would die, no matter what the cost would be.

_**xxx**_

Small voices pierced through his buzzing mind. His head was throbbing and he was paralyzed. His first thoughts were that he was back in the burning sand, and was now fighting to breathe under tons of burning grains over him. However, when he opened his eyes to check where he was, he didn't see a thing. A blurred veil was covering his vision, and the bright light behind it was burning his eyes. So, he shot them again, trying to breathe and this time cool air filled his lungs. Hope nestled in his heart as he realized that maybe he had escaped that sucking deadly sands. But it's only when the thick veil over his eyes began to fade and a pair of emerald eyes connected with his, that he knew he was back home. A wide smile spread over the face of the woman bent over him, and he felt her fingers softly brushing back his hair. It felt good to be alive, his mind shot. But it definitely felt better to see her.

She smiled as she had seen his eyes fluttered open, and finally connecting with hers. With delight, she had noted how his gaze had rested on her, unmoving, unyielding while a growing tired smile had grazed his pale face. He was back, though he would need some time off for sure, and maybe some therapy for his arm, but he was alive, and right now it was all that mattered. She finally took a deep relaxing breath, releasing the tension that had accumulated in her back and shoulders. Until the docs had stepped out of the ICU to tell her that the surgery had gone fine, and that he was recovering in his room, he hadn't been able to really cope with the world around her. No, for almost a day, they had been stranded and alone, in silent. And now, all these whispering voices, hidden glances toward her and bitter smell of drugs and ointments, had just pushed her to shell back and focus her thoughts on Mac. But now she could relax, he had made it through the killing shot, the blood loss, the exhausting fever, and the surgery. So, now, he was going to be fine, but again, she would make sure of it.

Mac smiled back at Stella, happy to see her and feel her warm fingers over his burning skin. For a moment he kept staring at the blazing fire behind the green jewels, and pondered the idea of telling her his true feelings. He could see in her eyes the pain and fear that had set camp for a while, tiring her beautiful features, and clinging at her heart and soul like a blood sucker parasite. He knew that his words could either alleviate those dark feelings or change their friendship into a mess. Though, seeing as her hand was clinging to his right now, he doubted of the latter. So it was time to tell her?

Then as he was about to talk, small whisperings drew his attention, and he realized they weren't alone. The voices he had heard belonged to his team, and they were now grinning at him like small kids as they had finally noticed that he was awake. Don stepped to his bed on one side and Lindsay and Danny came closer on the other, big, happy smiles grazing their lips.

"Hey, Big Mac?" called Danny with a smile. "How ya feelin'?" he asked as he patted Mac's leg under the blankets.

Mac recognized the touch, the need his young friend needed to do in order to erase the painful nightmare from his mind, and to confirm that he was real. "I'm okay, Danny, thanks," he replied with a hoarse voice, hoping to reassure everyone in the room at the same time. In truth, he did feel better than on the roof, although it had probably to do with the painkillers he was on.

"Yeah, well sorry we couldn't get you out sooner," Danny said, remorse feeling his eyes.

Mac tried a wide smile, but finished only with a ghost of it. "You did good, Danny."

Danny's face beamed a little, though Mac could see guilt lingering in his eyes.

Don patted Stella's shoulder as he gave a big smile to Mac. "Hey, next time I got a crime scene with your name on it, you go in full gears, and no arguin', alright?"

Mac smirked at Don's remark. "Sure, Don." Yeah, whatever his friend wanted, he was in no position of arguing with him anyway. And this morning, he admitted he could have done with a bulletproof jacket.

The young detective chuckled at the lack of protest from his friend and glanced at Danny, the two exchanging knowing glances as they made their way out of the room, leaving their friend for a much needed rest.

Mac frowned and noted for later to ask them what had happened between the two, as there was more in their looks than what they had said. Did something happen when he was out? But then, he was too tired to ask about it today. He chuckled inwardly, though he wasn't gonna say that in front of them. He let his head sank further in the fluffy pillow, feeling tiredness taking its toll on him.

"Glad you're okay," said Lindsay, as she patted his good shoulder, her too, trying to reassure herself of the reality that he was still alive and with them.

"Thanks, Linds," he mumbled.

Observing him for a minute, Lindsay took another step. Without a word, her hand cupped his right cheek, and she deposited a soft kiss on his left. "You got us really scared," she admitted with a small voice, before gently squeezing his left arm. She nodded toward him. "We need you, Mac." Her lips tight, she shot a complicit look at Stella, and she joined her husband outside the room.

Mac swallowed the strong feeling that surged through his heart at Lindsay's confession. He considered any members of his team like family, but he had never thought they felt the same way. He looked back at his partner who hadn't spoken a word since he had opened his eyes. She was carefully watching him, as to check that he was really okay, although he could bet his next pay, she wasn't believing a word he had said.

His right arm in a sling, he pushed on his left to sit upright and have a better look at her. Immediately she was by his side trying to keep him from moving too much and getting more pillows behind his back. As he sat more comfortably, his good hand gently grabbed her trembling hand and placed it over his beating heart. He noticed with sadness the white strips wrapping both of her palms and winced at the wounds she had probably inflicted to herself in order to save his life.

"What's that?" he whispered with concerns, his eyes looking at the white dressing wrapping her hands.

"Just scratches," she replied wearily, her eyes still locked to his face.

"Scratches?" he said not wanting to push further more as he glanced at her arm and noticed the blue CSI jacket she was wearing. "How's your arm?"

She frowned at his concern, but gave him a shy smile. "You know the hole in your shoulder is bigger than mine," she gently smirked. "How's your shoulder? And I mean, really?" she added, knowing that he was going to give her, his I'm-fine answer.

"I'm f-..." he began, but seeing her eyes waiting for the truth, he finally changed his mind. "I can't feel it. Probably the drugs." He didn't want her to worry, and for once, it was true, he couldn't feel it.

She smiled, glad he had gone with something more truthful this time. "I bet you don't," she smirked. Knowing that if he hadn't been under painkillers, his face wouldn't have been that relax. She sighed and looked back at him, her lips tight as she was about to say something more.

Silently, she continued to gaze at his pale, tired face, feeling his heart beating under her fingers, and the green scrubs covering his chest. She had insisted with the nurses to give him those scrubs. Somehow, she was still feeling bad for cutting through his flesh and being unable to help him more, so, as he was still out after the surgery, she had taken care of him and had asked what he would have growled for.

She smiled lightly. His hand was over hers, and his thumb gently stroked her skin. Slowly, the world started to get more real around her as if she had finally found the exit to this nightmare, and the slow rhythm of his heart beneath her fingers, was another proof he was alive, and she wasn't dreaming. She gave him a warm smile. She could see the same pain in his eyes that she had seen a couple of hours ago when they had arrived at the hospital, and they had taken him to surgery. Without a word, Sheldon had led her to the bathroom, gently ordering her to get cleaned up while he was waiting for some news from Mac. It was then, that the mirror of the nurses' locker room had reflected her that same pain. The pain you feel for the other, the pain and fear of losing someone dear.

Her shoulders sagging, she sat on the bed, careful not to mess with his IV and other lines he was hooked up. Her free hand still trembling, she softly cupped the left side of his face, and let out a heavy sigh. She watched with delight as he closed his eyes and his face leaned against her warm touch. The deep lines carving his forehead slowly faded.

He felt Stella's sweet perfume engulfed his senses, and soon her head was nestled over his good shoulder. Without a word, he wrapped his good arm around her shoulders, keeping her close of his heart. He tensed a minute from his unusual display of affection wondering if she wasn't going to back away because he had stepped over the line. But he was relieved as she sank further into his embrace, and for a long moment they remained like that. None of them wanting to break their silent hug in fear of waking up to a more painful reality; one where death would have separated them forever.

_**xxx**_

Lindsay exited Mac's room, and felt immediately Danny's arm snake around her waist to pull her in a much needed hug for the both of them. The pressure now down, they could let themselves drowned in a more comforting embrace as their friends were safe.

From the corner of her eyes, she noticed the two NYPD cops taking shift before Mac's door, and felt Danny's arms tightened around her, his warm breath tickling her neck as he turned to see what she was looking at.

The setting sun shining from the back window of the corridor cut through the shape of the cops standing for the coming night. "They're gonna be safe, now, " teased Danny, remembering his wife offering him the same words few hours ago.

"I hope so," she replied, a gut feeling nestled in the pit of her stomach. The images of the smoking computers printed before her, reminding her that the guy they were after had tried to destroy any evidence to lead to him. Even in the rush to flee, he had thought about it, and it was enough to tell her that he wasn't playing to lose. No, they could bet he would be back for Mac. That guy wasn't gonna back down and retreat before he was sure that Mac was dead.

"What ya thinkin'?" his husband voice pulled her from her dreadful thoughts.

"He's smart, Danny, and very angry for setting up that kind of trap for Mac." She sighed, taking a step away from Danny. His arms lingered over her hips as he watched her with worries. "I don't think he's gonna give up that easily."

"Yeah, I agree," admitted Danny, as Don joined them, gloom lingering behind his blue eyes too.

"So far, the guys on the street have found nothin'," Don dropped bitterly. "This guy seemed to have vanished in thin air." He turned and looked at the cops standing before Mac's door. He paced the corridor nervously and then turned to Danny.

"You guys wanna eat something," he asked with a frown, realizing that he had seen none of his friends eat anything since the start of this mess.

Danny nodded. "Just a cup of coffee..." he began, before Lindsay's voice interrupted him.

"No Danny, you need to eat, go with Don, I'll wait here," reassured Lindsay as she took a seat.

"Nah, I'm good. You need to eat Montana, or your parents are gonna kill me," he quipped as he grabbed her hand and pulled her toward him once more.

She smiled as she collided softly with his chest. "No, Messer, you..." but she was cut short by Sheldon's voice.

"You guys go eat," he ordered them, his hand pointing behind him. "I'm the doctor here, so getta here, eat, drink, and then, I'll do the same with Adam and Sid. They should be here soon."

The small group looked at him with an amused smile as he sat on a metallic chair, and waved them to go. The three nodded with a small smile and disappeared in the elevator. Sheldon stepped to Mac's door and quickly peered inside. A small grin grazed his face. The scene before him comforted him that he should wait outside, his friends needing some quality time alone. So, he stepped back and left the two forms nestled in each other's arms, quietly sleeping, and finally giving in to a much needed rest.

_**xxx**_

Sinclair fumed before the giant screen of the conference room. Displayed before him, where the guns virtually set in the towers surrounding the cabin where Mac and Stella had been stranded for almost a day. The crossfire was neatly thought. All weapons had been placed in different floors, different ranges, and at different angles to be sure that the Crime Lab or any cop couldn't come up with an exact position during the crossfire. The man who had planned that was smart, and hadn't forgotten any dead angle. No, the roof had been well covered. If any of his men had had the stupid idea of setting a foot on this roof with the network still working, his life would have lasted no more than a handful of seconds, before crumbling on the ground, shot to death.

Adam next to him pointed at the floor of a tower. A 3D map appeared and displayed it on the screen. "Can't be an amateur," said Adam.

Sinclair shot him a furious glare. Of course it couldn't be an amateur. This kid was stating the obvious as if it was a proof of his own intelligence. But instead of venting his anger, Sinclair tightened his fist and sighed deeply. He had almost lost the Head of his Crime Lab today, and the reporters were clearly implying that the city had been at a loss to rescue its own. He looked down at Adam. Surely this kid had been much more worried about his boss than his remark could let it seeped.

"What useful thing can you tell me Ross?" asked Sinclair, containing his anger.

It was probably the heat in the Chief voice that Adam felt as he straightened himself upward and typed on his computer. His voice rambling a little. "Uh, so far, we only have his weapons, and the name he left for renting his rooms."

"Which is?" asked Sinclair.

"Uh, you're not gonna like this Chief. He was registered as John Smith." Adam winced at the growl he expected to hear.

The Chief huffed. _John Smith, huh._ In other words, a ghost again.

"I checked the ID he used and got nothing, but the credit card he used for the payment led me to a Robbert Astor."

The Chief shook his head, so this guy wanted to play with them, using fake names.

"But we are still looking for other possibilities, Chief," added Adam. "Danny asked the team to check for prints in all the doors of the hotel you found his equipment." He sighed. "Maybe the team will have his among it."

The Chief smirked. "Do you just know how many prints we are talking about, Ross? Hundreds of New Yorkers had probably entered and exited this building just today to get a room or leave."

"I know Chief, but we might be lucky."

He huffed, not convinced. "And what about the computers he left behind?"

Adam racked his throat. "Ah, well, he destroyed them like a pro." Adam quickly looked up to the Chief, before his eyes settled back to his keyboard. "I'm trying to get back some of his data in the less damaged hard drive, but the process he used to destroy it was clean." Adam frowned before he stared into his explanation. "I mean he erased it first before he spread some kind of magnetic chemical that altered the hard drive, and he set them on fire for last. We'd be lucky if we find something." Huffed Adam, a deep frown carving his forehead. "Sorry."

The Chief nodded to Adam before he turned toward the city entering the night. The soft lazy sun finally setting down after a well tiring day. Orange streaks laced through the quiet sky as Sinclair stared at the towers before him; the city's lights beginning to set on. Somewhere behind one of those lights, a cop killer was lurking to take his revenge on one of his men. And even, if a couple of years back, Mac Taylor had been the worst pain in the ass he had tried to get rid off, he had to admit, that knowing the man, he had admired his loyalty for his beliefs, and wasn't ready to lose him any time soon now.

_**xxx**_

Mac smiled as he felt Stella twitch a little in his arms. Although he had only one to wrap around her, he was glad she had let him do it. For the last hour, she had remained nestled against him without saying a word. He was exhausted and aching everywhere he could feel his body as the painkillers were starting to wear off, but he couldn't move. Feeling her pressed against him felt so good that he didn't dare to disturb her, afraid she would break their hug and leave him. He had to admit, he needed her. He needed to feel her this close and nestled in his arms. He swallowed the lump in his throat, remembering the fear he had seen in her eyes all day, though she had carefully tried to hide it. But if it was true that she knew him, he knew her well too. Softly, his fingers lazily caressed her golden curls as his arm tightened around her. With a weak smile, he inhaled her perfume to remind him that he was alive, and she was the reason he was still there.

Then, he felt her twitch against him, and he knew that she was waking up from her forced sleep, and the moment was over. With sadness, he released his arm from her shoulders as she sat slowly, her hand resting on his chest. In silence, her emerald eyes locked with his, he saw her hesitate, and for a minute he thought that she was going to lie back next to him for the night. But instead, she bit her lower lip and cupped his cheek like a mother, caressing his jaw line with her thumb. It felt so good, he couldn't resist to linger in the soft touch of her fingers and closed his eyes. He was so damn tired.

His green, ocean eyes turned into a deep, blue sea as soon as she touched his face. She smiled. She loved the way his eyes were changing of colors, especially when she was with him, as if he was doing it just for her. But then, her thoughts drifted back to her previous thinking and the fear of losing him. With their work, one day, life could be over for any of them. She wondered if he had any idea of how much she loved him. Gracing him with a warm smile, she searched in the depth of his turquoise eyes. She could see a small nervousness appearing as if he was expecting her to do something. She tightened her lips, remembering the feeling that had crossed her mind a few minutes ago. Just after waking up in his arms and realizing she hadn't dreamed the shots and him playing dangerously with death, she had a furious urge to kiss him. Although she had promised herself she would tell him what she was feeling for him, she wasn't sure that right now was the right place. Maybe later when he would be more alert and less sleepy, she noted as his eyes began to flutter shut.

She smiled realizing that he had probably stayed awake when she had fallen asleep in his arms. She smirked at his white knight side always there even when he should think about himself first. Her fingers continued to caress his cheek and began to play gently with the small hair over his temple. She watched with delight as his eyes closed totally and his lips parted in content when she gently massaged his temple. His features slowly relaxed in a peaceful sleep under her fingers, and he let out a soft sigh. She couldn't think of a better image of him relaxing with her. Excited by his complete abandon under her fingers, her hand softly brushed further, and her fingers delighted in the soft feeling of his short hair caressing her skin. His head was still burning, though a lot less than before; but his doctors had been confident that he should heal quickly, giving that he would rest. She smiled, gazing at him lovingly, she would make sure he would.

She heard the door open behind her, but too busy with her partner, she didn't notice the man that stepped right behind her. It's only when she felt the cold butt of a gun poking in her back that she realized that something was wrong.

"Oh, that is so cute," scorned the voice behind her. "I wish I'd come sooner to take a picture of you two."

Her blood ran cold at the feeling of hatred and disgust she could discern in the voice. "Who are you?" Stella asked, all her senses in alert. If he was the one that had tried to kill Mac, then, her partner's life was again in danger.

"Come here," the voice said, as she felt a callous hand grabbing her hair, and pulling violently her head backwards.

A small yelp escaped her lips at the sudden violence exerted on her neck and hair. To her misery, she felt a strong hand snaking over her mouth. The rough skin harshly rubbed her lips, hindering her to speak. The voice now closer to her ear, she felt with disgust the stenchy breath filled with cigarette mint, while the barrel of the gun deepened angrily into her back.

"Careful Sister, or I break your neck right here," he threatened.

Her hands reached for the arm holding her. She tried to pull it down but the gun deepened in her back with pain. Her eyes widened in fear when the gun finally left her back and was aimed at her stirring partner. As Mac had probably heard her screams; his eyes fluttered open, fighting the effect of his drug-induced sleep.

Still groggy, Mac tried to shave off the sleep lingering before his eyes. Muffled voices and a sense of danger had pulled him from his drowsy state. He blinked tiredly, but as soon as he saw Stella in the hands of a man dressed as a doctor, his blood boiled in his veins. A surge of anger rushed through his body. He tensed, pushing on his left arm to strengthen upward with a painful wince. His muscles screamed against his sudden move, and he felt the IV plugged in his flesh being pulled lightly. Half sat and panting, he was about to jump from his bed, when the man pointed the gun directly on Stella's head. He froze, swallowing the terrifying fear that had nestled in his throat.

"You move or you call for help and she's dead," stated the man as he stepped back to the wall, taking his distance from Mac's bed, and pulling Stella a little further away from Mac.

Mac watched helpless as the man was holding his partner, his hand nastily lingered over her mouth to hinder her speech, while the gun was poked further against her tender neck.

"I'm the one you want!" Mac growled. "Not her. So let her go!" he ordered.

The man shot him a furious glare. "You're in no position to give orders, Marine," he spat with anger.

"Let her go. I'll do whatever you want," Mac said, his tone lower. He saw Stella's eyes widened in fear, but he ignored them. He couldn't lose her. She counted more than his life. He knew she wouldn't agree with his decisions, but if he could save her life, then, he would do it.

"Oh I'm sure you will, Taylor, as long as I have my insurance card here," he replied with a smirk. His hand slipped from her mouth to her throat and he squeezed angrily. "And you baby," he whispered harshly into her ears. "If you try to get away, I shot him first before I think of anything else."

Stella trembled as she heard his cold voice. His lips wickedly brushed her neck. She stared at Mac, who was sitting on his bed like a lion ready to jump on his opponent's throat. For a moment, she ignored the cold hand squeezing her throat and the disgusting lips touching her skin. She couldn't let herself being driven into this mad game. Just by a quick glance she saw how it was hurting Mac to be unable to help her. She couldn't let him see that she was scared or disgusted by this man, or she could bet Mac would dare something crazy that would be his end. No, they had to get some time.

Taking a deep breath, she tried to think quickly. She pondered the possibility if she was elbowing the guy, but she was sure that he wasn't bluffing. All the techniques she had learned to disarm a man were to protect herself, not when someone was ready to kill at her first move, and this time his first target would be Mac. She couldn't take the risk. Even if Mac was ready to jump on his throat, she knew he was no match with the man holding her as minutes ago he had been on the verge of slumbering from exhaustion. What strength could be left in him, then? Without forgetting the hole in his shoulder that had almost taken his life. No, considering Mac's state, she doubted he would be able to stand or fight if needed. She had to find something else.

His blood was rushing behind his ears as he watched with anger the man whispering something into Stella's ears, and her eyes widening in fear; it couldn't be friendly. Then, as if coming out of his most horrible nightmare, the man's lips dared to touch her skin, his eyes darting to Mac, daring him to move and sign her death. His heart speeded madly in his chest, wrenched in pain at what Stella was living. He clenched his jaw with rage, his good hand closing into a fist as he evaluated his chances on jumping on the guy before he hurt his partner. Unfortunately, the guy had retreated against the wall, about three yards from him, and the odds he would get to him, disarm him, and free his partner, without her getting hurt or shot in the process were thin. He sighed, even remote considering his current wreck state. He wasn't even sure he could really stand on his legs. A boiling rage rose inside him at his helplessness when Stella needed him. _Damn it!_ He cursed. He looked at her eyes with guilt, knowing that again he had failed her. Her life was in danger because of him.

Swallowing back the nausea her aggressor's hand had on her, Stella watched in pain as Mac gave her a look of pain and guilt, probably thinking this was his fault. She sighed inwardly, there was no way he could be held responsible for this. But the guilty look he was bearing was enough to convince her that he was probably thinking at a solution to end this, and that she wasn't going to like it. She eyed him, trying to tell him that she was okay. Whatever that man was doing, it was only to get under his skin.

Mac lightly shook his head, understanding what Stella meant with her eyes; but he couldn't sit and watch her being touched by these nasty hands. He knew their chances were small, but if he could divert the man's attention to him, then, Stella could run and get help, even if it meant the guy taking a dead shot at him. Mac bit his lip in remorse of what he was about to do. He saw in her eyes she knew what he was about to do. Fear immediately spread all over her face, as she tensed ready to help him.

But then, the door opened and Sheldon stepped inside, frowning. "Hey, guys, I..." he stopped as he took in the scene before him. "What the...?"

"Shut the hell up!" voiced angrily the man, as he stepped further back and pointed his gun on Stella's head again.

Mac watched hopeless as the distance with their aggressor had suddenly increased and Stella was dragged furthermore from him, preventing him from making a move to disarm their aggressor. He cringed as the man's fingers deepened in her tender skin around her throat, choking her. She let out a small grunt, before starting to cough in need of air.

"Stella!" called Mac in panic.

"You doc moved to this wall, or she's dead," the man threatened, ignoring Mac.

"Okay, calm down," replied Sheldon as he raised his hands, trying to soothe the man's anger and hoping he would release his pressure against Stella's throat.

"Do as he says, Sheldon," encouraged Mac, his eyes darting furious swords toward the man. His enemy smiled wickedly at him, before he released his choke and Stella could finally breathe.

Without another word, Sheldon stepped back to the wall, his hands raised, and waited.

"If you touched her again, I swear you're dead!" Mac threatened as his eyes locked with Stella to check if she was okay. He saw her inhaling a painful intake of air, before slightly nodding toward him.

"Oh, so you think you can threaten me right now, Marine?" snarled the man as he and Stella circled Mac's bed to get to his right side and passed before Sheldon.

Then, the man pushed Stella onto the ground and violently smashed his gun on Mac's right shoulder. Mac fell back onto the bed as he let out a deep grunt. With a wicked smile of victory the man pressed the gun against his wet temple, his other hand squeezing Mac's wound to hinder his movements. Mac felt his strength abandoning him and watched with horror the man using him now like a hostage, but he was glad that the perp's hands were far from his partner now, even if it was to hurt him.

As soon as she was on the floor, Stella pushed on her hands and stood up, facing with fierce rage the man that was hurting her partner. But the gun now pointed at Mac's head stopped her moves right away. She painfully realized in what turmoil her partner had been minutes ago.

"You come closer and he's dead," threatened the man, to show his determination, he squeezed Mac's shoulder.

Mac let out a groan.

"Please don't..." Stella began, but she was cut short as her words seemed to fill their aggressor's rage and he squeezed even more with an evil smile, daring her to take another step.

Pain wrenched her heart as she watched Mac fought to remain conscious at the deep pain tearing his body. The white dressing covering his wound was soon covered with a thin red line of blood, and his eyes fluttered slowly.

"You," voiced the man, as he addressed to Stella. "You go outside and tell the cops you don't need them anymore."

Stella shot him an angry look. The man released his grip on Mac's wound and grabbed something in his pocket.

"You do it right now, and you take that in your pocket," he added as he tossed her a tiny ball pierced with holes.

Stella frowned, as she rolled the ball between her fingers to find blood covering it. She stared back in fear and realized it was Mac's as the man was back pressing her partner's shoulder. She could see him panting now, and fighting to remain conscious.

"It's a mic," the man said. "Like that I'll know if you're trying to set me up," he finished, "Now go, or I swear, your friend here will be whiter than those sheets if you don't move."

And to add more power to his words, his grip squeezed Mac's shoulder. A weak groan of pain escaped Mac's lips, his face drained of the small color he had recovered. Mac sank back in the pillow, his eyes tightly shut in pain, heaving laboriously.

Stella clenched her fists at her side in rage. Knowing the guy wasn't playing, she gave a reassuring look at Mac, hoping he could see her through his haze and headed for the door, before she disappeared in the corridor.

The man smiled as he heard her speak in his ear plug. "You doc," he said to Sheldon. "You gonna kneel facing the wall and your hands in your back."

Sheldon looked at the man before him and then at Mac, who's face was covered in sweat, his eyes fluttered closed in pain. Seeing the beads of sweat covering his forehead, and the winces his friend was unable to hide, Sheldon could bet that the blows had torn his stitches and reopened the wound. It wasn't good news for his friend. Mac had already lost a great amount of blood, and he couldn't afford to lose more without risking to fall into a coma or even worse.

"Are you deaf," shouted the man as he pressed more on Mac's dressing, sending jolts of pain into Mac's frail body. Mac groaned weakly unable to keep his wrenching pain at bay.

Seeing no choice, Sheldon turned around, and did as he was told. He knelt before the wall, but before he could think of any tactics, something hard collided with the back of his head. He went limp against the wall as the darkness hungrily swallowed him.

"Hawkes," yelled Mac through the haze covering his eyes. "Bastard," he yelled. With anger, he pushed on his good arm to jump on the man, and help his friend, but his msucles refused to move quickly, and his opponent was in a better shape. The man caught him with his gun right under his ribs. Mac bent in two on the bed, just as the gun was smashed into his face. The cold metal collided with his left temple, grazing the skin and leaving a deep, crimson gash in his hair. Thrown back violently onto the bed, Mac lay motionless as the ceiling spun over him. A few seconds later a new wave of pain assaulted his body when his adversary pressed deeply on his throat, choking him.

"You stay put, Taylor," commanded the man, with a nasty laugh.

"Ah," panted Mac. He tried to push back the grip choking him, but with one tired arm and a blurred vision, he quickly felt cold seeping through his body, and his strength abandoning him. He was about to give up and fell into oblivion, when he thankfully felt the pressure being released. He let his lung filled with air and tried to regain some strength before he met his final end. But with a renewed terror, he heard Stella's voice again. _Oh God,_ why hadn't she left him when she was outside? Why did she have to come back for him? _Not Stella, please,_ his mind pleaded.

"Stopped. You're hurting him," Stella yelled as she ran toward the limp form of Mac, lying messily on the bed. His head was hanging loosely on one side, and his legs were dangling limply on the other one.

"Mac," she called as she gently lifted his head, and dabbed the blood oozing from the new graze in his hair. He didn't answer, his eyes flickering like a dying candle. Anger rose inside her as she noticed Sheldon lying down to the ground. It wasn't hard to guess what had happened when she was convincing the cops that they weren't useful anymore. Their shooter had probably knocked out Sheldon while Mac would have tried to stop him. But with his current state, her partner wouldn't have made it very far. She sighed, her eyes scanning the deep, new cut carved in his flesh again. When would they have a break?

_**...TBC, one more to go

* * *

**_

**A/N:** Well, hope you're still hanging on and you're alive after all this cliffie. Well, this was the last one, promise (for this story of course) as the next will be the end.

So, don't forget to review and tell me what you've thought of it. Again, it's getting late, hope things are ok.

Have all a great weekend, soon _The journey of the Broken Hearts_ updated as soon as I'll have it ready.


	6. I'll never leave you

**A/N: **okay here it's the last chapter, it's a bit late, but I wasn't there part of the week, and then got busy...well, anyway, this chapter is very, very long, I hope you won't mind. I pondered about cutting it in half, but since I promised only one, and then, the atmosphere wouldn't have been the same so, here is a long chapter: the big finale of Najaf...

Again, a great thanks to all who followed that story, put it in fav or in alert, and a special thanks to all who continuously reviewed. So, thanks to Andorian Ice Princess-Aip, LILKENNY, Stardust585, StellaBonaseraTaylor, Lily Moonlight, Lindsy, Smacked-for-life, DoctorLisaCuddy, Sophia923, x-Natalie-x, csi kane, Timeforachange, Aquata, Katya S, gsr4ever15, rocksmacked, jjsaywat97,Tim, Mr GOP88, Rosa Atrus, moska, Vermontgirl61, Bonasera-Taylor, cic628, da-doink-doink, Catulicious, Magenta!, Forensic Girl554, ABIGAIL and if I forgot someone please know it wasn't intentional.

And thanks to Rosa for her knowledge about Iraq and our small talks.

So if I may, tighten your seatbelt and hang on, this ride kinda take off, lol. Well, you'll tell me...

**Summary:** An unexpected enemy presents himself as he wants his revenge on Mac and set the team up in a deadly game of cat and mouse. Angst, SMacked, team friendship and comfort ensue. SMacked, D/L, Flack, Sheldon and later Adam.

**Disclaimer:** I don't own anything, beside the characters I created for this story. CSI NY belongs to CBS and Jerry Bruckeimer.

* * *

"Who are you?" Stella asked with anger.

Why so much violence and rage against her partner? She needed to know. She needed to know if she could reason that man. She looked at him, her eyes darting furious sword. Tall, in his mid-thirties, and in doctors' scrubs, she could see he had thought about everything; from his medical shoes to the absence of casual clothes underneath. No, this guy was really playing serious. That's why the guards hadn't seen a thing with him. Only his gun was the odd element of his disguise. His rounded, tanned face eyed her with a dark glare, before his sight wickedly lingered too long for her taste on Mac. She could feel his hatred resting on him. If his eyes could have killed, then, Mac would be dead by now, or worse as his glare seemed to think at something before a grin appeared on his face. Her hands cuddled Mac's head over her laps as he moved slightly and let escape a weak moan. His eyes twitched, fighting to remain conscious. His bloody gash was smearing her clothes with crimson spots, and she trembled when her wet hands stroked his warm cheek to reassure him. His eyes twitched and she could see with horror the thick glassy veil upon them.

The man smirked as he stepped near Sheldon and grabbing his collar, he dragged his limp body toward the bed. Still ignoring Stella's question, he reaped open Sheldon's shirt revealing the dark skin beneath it. Then, raising his gun toward Stella, he stepped closer to the bed where Stella was supporting a dozing Mac. Without warning, he pulled on the heart plugs stuck on Mac's chest. The action tugged on his skin and pulled Mac out of his drowsiness with a grunt.

Her blood rushing behind her ears, Stella heard the heart monitor going flat line and then starting to beat to a normal pace as soon as the man stuck the plugs on Sheldon's chest. A gloomy feeling nestled in the pit of her stomach. If the guy was taking the time to separate Mac from the heart monitor, it meant he hadn't come just for the kill, or he would be done with it already. Breathing loudly, chills of dread ran down her spine at the perspective of having Mac alone in the hands of this psycho. She swallowed hard, ready to do anything to prevent any dreadful torment to her partner.

"Stell...?" his weak voice called as he was coming back to full consciousness.

"I'm here, Mac," she whispered, gently caressing his cheek. He tried to sit with a groan. Swiftly, she sat behind his back to support his battered body.

His head sagged a moment before him as he tried to clear his mind. His brain was pounding madly and a buzzing headache was writhing his ears. He had a hard time to focus, his vision greying in and out. He caught, trying to get his throat to function normally after the steel choke. Nausea invaded his tongue, and he swallowed his painful breath. His chest was throbbing madly too, and he knew from the shooting pain in his side that the guy had badly bruised his ribs with his gun. He blinked and finally felt Stella's comforting body behind him.

"So finally you're back with us, Taylor," growled the man, pointing the gun directly on Mac's chest.

Stella flinched under the rage this man was using when he was using her partner's name; and the gun toward her partner's chest wasn't to reassure her.

Mac swallowed to wet his dry mouth. "Let her go," he grunted, his voice imperative as he had found a new vigor. He raised a daunting glare toward his aggressor. "That's me ya want..." he spat. He took another painful breath between his clenched teeth, and his vision cleared before him. He could see now the guy pointing his gun toward his heart. Somehow he was relieved that Stella was behind him, at least he hoped if the man lost his nerves then, he could shield her.

"Mac, don't," began Stella, before he slowly turned toward her. Blood was still slowly oozing from the cut in his hair, and his eyes fluttered a second before he opened them with more force. She could see his resolved blazing behind his green, ocean pools.

"No, Stell..." he said softly. There was no way he was going to let her get hurt or worse, because of him.

"Look at that," snarled the man, his gun dancing dangerously between Stella and Mac, driving their sights toward him. "That is so cute." He shook his head. "Unfortunately Major Taylor you're not in command this time. I decide who stays or not." He glared at Mac daring him to say otherwise. "And she's gonna stick with us," he growled with rage, his gun aiming at Mac's head. "Like that you'll keep quiet, otherwise I'll let my bad manners take care of her."

The last words made Mac's blood boiled in rage. "You bastard!" he cursed as he shifted awkwardly on the bed and slanted forward. But hindered by his IV lines and Stella's pulls on his scrubs, he didn't make it more than few inches. His lips cracked into a painful wince as the pain in his shoulder shot in a hot flare throughout his body. He pressed his left arm against his chest, trying to ease the pain writhing his chest, and shoulder, but it didn't work. Obviously, his painkillers had worn off, and he was left with nothing to help him but his will. Breathing laboriously, he felt Stella's hands patting his back behind him.

The man smirked at Mac's vain attempt to get to him as he dragged Sheldon's body a little bit aside. With a scorn and keeping his eyes and gun on his preys, he tugged on an unused wire, and tied Sheldon's hands behind. Then, crouching beside Sheldon, he pressed the butt of his gun on the ME's neck and looked at Mac with an evil smile.

"Don't do that," voiced Mac and Stella at the same time. Horror painted on their faces, their eyes glued to the man's index finger ready to pull the trigger.

"Beg me," hissed the man between his teeth. "Beg me, and he might live."

Mac shivered at his enemy's cold tone. This guy wanted nothing more than exert power over him. If it was what he had to give, humiliate himself in order to save his friends, then, the choice was easy.

"I beg you not to..." Mac took a small breath, as his eyes connected with the man in fear. "Please leave him alone," begged Mac. Stella's hand squeezed his arm as a quiet support.

"You're not sincere enough," the man stated as he stood up and aimed at Sheldon's chest.

"No," screamed Mac as he shifted, sending more pain through his body. He winced but stared in rage. His face was crimson in anger and fear that the psycho act on his words. Mac swallowed the lump in his throat and locked his eyes with his enemy, revealing his own fears. "Please, don't kill him," he pleaded, his voice having lost part of his composure. He couldn't provoke the guy if it meant Sheldon's death. "What ya want from me?"

"I want you on your knees, begging me," the man growled with anger. "But maybe I haven't chosen the right person," he stated as his gun aimed at Stella.

"Nooo," screamed Mac with horror. His heart skipped in his chest. He instinctively put himself between her and the gun. _Not her, _his mind shot. _Not Stella._

Her grip on his arm tightened, trying to pull him out of harm's way. "Mac, don't...You can't...I..." Her voice trailed off in fear. She was afraid it could be the end of her partner. This man was crazy and obviously he was taking great pleasure by hurting Mac.

The man smiled wickedly, enjoying the torture he was inflicting to his prey. He had to pay. He had vowed revenge since the day of their deaths, and now, after all these years he was going to be able to execute it.

"Why?" asked Stella her eyes beginning to water as she was witnessing the mental torture the man was inflicting to her partner. Her fingers wrapped firmly around Mac's arm. He couldn't do that, and put himself in danger just after she had almost lost him. She needed him. "Why?" she repeated, her voice broken by the evil stare glaring in hatred at Mac.

"Why?" answered the man angrily. "Because a butcher like him deserves it," he growled with hatred, his gun aiming at Mac.

"You're wrong," she replied as she snaked her arm around Mac waist, hoping to calm him from trying to jump on the man. In his condition, he wouldn't make it far before he got a bullet between the eyes, and then it would be over of her Mac Taylor. She would lose him.

"No, I'm right about him." He pointed his gun to Mac's head. "He's a killer. Blowing up child and women." He lashed out with rage. His hand squeezed the gun as his finger dangerously played with the trigger.

Mac's face grew pale at the reference of his dark past, his eyes stuck in shock into the man's eyes before him. He wasn't a killer. But deep inside, guilt soared, and he couldn't erase the dark faces of the charred corpses his men and himself had dug out after the blast. All this blood and smell of roasted dead corpses had made the strongest of them throwing up their gut into the desert. He breathed wearily. He was guilty of their deaths; that he was sure of it.

"It was an accident," defended Stella as her partner remained still in her arms. She could feel his guilt surging and eating at his soul. He was a good man. How dare that guy accused him of willingly killing innocent?

"An accident?" snarled the man not believing her words. "He gave the order to blow them up. It was no accident!" He stated harshly. His face was contorted in rage.

"The insurgents blown themselves up, it wasn't Mac..." Stella defended.

"He gave the order before that. And they wouldn't have been gathered like that if it hadn't been because of him," spat the man.

Mac's eyes lowered to the bed. The guy was right. He had known that fact all along. "How...?" began Mac, his voice weak and wavering. "How ya know?" his voice struggled with the guilt he had felt all these years. It was true that the insurgents had blown themselves up, but as he had told Stella, he was the one in charge. He had put them into this situation. He was the one responsible for this whole chaos. And he was responsible too if she was in danger now. He glanced quickly, catching her trembling hand tightening around his arm. He didn't want her to pay for something he had done in the past.

"Because my mother had hidden me in another building, and I saw everything," the man growled with disgust. "And I saw him," he shot furiously, his gun aimed at Mac's chest. "He was standing in the middle of this butchery, blood all over his uniform, strolling and smiling as if nothing happened."

"That's not true, we helped the survivors," Mac shot to his defense. How could this man imply that he had enjoyed that day? He had cursed that day, never able to forget about his failure and the deaths he had caused on innocent people. Even his nights reminded him about it with weary, painful nightmares.

"Shut up! I lost my parents and my two older brothers that day. Because of you!" He violently thrust the butt of the gun into Mac's ribs making him wince in pain. "And now it's gonna be your turn." His gun deepened angrily in Mac's chest, hurting his bruised ribs. "But I swear you gonna feel it." He added with hatred.

"It was war," voiced out Stella. Her hand had gripped around Mac's arm to contain him in case he tried to play the wild card. _Please Mac, don't give him what he wants. Don't let yourself get killed, not like this, not by that bastard._

Stella shivered at the hatred look the man gave her as his eyes set upon her. Then, in a violent pull, he tugged harshly on the IV lines plugged into Mac's arms. Mac muffled a scream as the needles twisted suddenly and torn his flesh, leaving smears of dripping blood on the white sheets.

"Ah," Mac moaned. His face was flushed in pain, his jaw clenched.

"Take the sling off," ordered the man as he pointed the gun at Stella's head.

With a groan, and swallowing back the throbbing pain, Mac untied the sling from his wounded shoulder and let his arm dangled freely on his side. He clenched his teeth under the flaring pain slashing his flesh. But he had to obey, this guy could very well kill Stella just to make a point. He shivered at the thought. Whatever would come, he would gladly take it if it could spare Stella's life. _Please God, let her be safe_.

"Now, both of you, move," said their aggressor pointing his free hand at the door. "We gonna make a small trip."

Her heart accelerated in her chest. _A trip?_ She watched with dread as the man's eyes gleamed with mad pleasure. This couldn't be good. That man wasn't gonna let them go, especially Mac. Fear tightened in a painful knot inside her throat. No, he wanted more from Mac; she could feel it. His rage and hatred toward her partner exuded from all parts of his being. She had to find something quickly. She couldn't count on the cops. She had dismissed them quickly, worried about Mac and Sheldon, and none of them had struck her as they had understood her nervous glances toward the door. She hadn't been lucky on this one. Those cops were freshly out of school and didn't know to recognize a situation going awry. She sighed in dread, hoping at least one of their friends would show up and see that they were missing. But when? When they would be gone for who knows where? Where this guy could enjoy to slowly torture and kill Mac? Her heart accelerated in her chest. No, she couldn't count on luck. She had to find a way. But how?

Mac slipped from the bed. His bare feet met the cold floor, sending painful shivers through his already battered body. He would have crumbled right away if Stella's firm arm around his waist hadn't kept him up. As she supported part of his weight with his arm around her neck, they both slowly shuffled toward the door. Somehow he was glad he was in scrubs, at least a part of his dignity would remain intact, but for how long?

The man stepped behind them, and painfully nestled his gun into Mac's right side as they reached the door. He wickedly bent toward Mac and Stella, grabbing Mac's hair and pulling him backward. His cigarette mint breath exhaled his hatred as he coldly spoke. "The first who tries anything, I kill the other without a second thought. You got me?" He released his grip and thrust Mac's head forward.

Mac breathed loudly and looked up at Stella with remorse. Then, both nodded silently to the man, and exchanged meaningful glances. None wanted harm be done to their partner. That man was evily using their bond to corner them into doing just what he wanted. They couldn't act without a careful plan, or they knew it would mean the death of the other. They were trapped. Trapped because of their feelings for each other.

Mac swallowed. With some luck, someone would spot them as soon as they were outside and would call for backup. Unfortunately, it was the end of the day, and as they stepped outside, they both stared at a deserted corridor; the cops guarding his door long gone. They shouldn't have been surprised as his room was situated at the far end of the hospital aisle. So, no one was able to see the woman supporting the wounded man in green scrubs as they headed for the stairs; but anyone that would come by later would be able to notice the small, crimson drops he was leaving behind him, blood slowly dripping from his limp arm.

"Up!" ordered the man behind them, as soon as they entered the stairway. With dread, they heard him locking the door behind him.

Mac breathed heavily as he climbed up the stairs, step by step. His head was pounding hard, and he could feel his body on fire from the exhausting effort he was making. Stella's body pressed against his to prevent any fall. She was nervously glancing every ten seconds to check how he was doing, and although he tried to hide the pain wrenching his shoulder and head, after the fifth floor they crossed, he was starting to have a difficult time to hide his winces. His breathing became laborious and each of his step was heavier, and sluggish. He could feel the warm liquid sliding along his arm and dripping from his hand to the floor. He wasn't going to last long. He blinked, trying to shave off the tiredness that clouded his mind as sweat ran along his neck and into his back. If he wanted to give a chance to Stella to survive, he had to keep his head clear and react at the first opportunity. Unfortunately, the man behind them wasn't giving them any chances. The roof was still high, and he feared he would be of no use when they would finally reach it. He swallowed the lump in his throat, praying he would be able to give just enough time to spare her life.

She clenched her teeth, her hand carefully nestled near his ribs, trying not to hurt him more. But his flushed face and the thin line of sweat slipping along his neck were enough indications to convince her that he wasn't doing okay. Hell, he wasn't supposed to move at all after that kind of surgery and blood loss. And yet, they were trying to climb up, threatened by a dangerous psychopath that had no intention of letting any of them live. She could feel Mac's heart beating madly under her fingers. She looked up and saw the several stairs still ahead. Whatever their enemy had in mind, it wasn't to kidnap Mac very far that he had come here. No. Her gut twisted madly at the perspective of reaching the roof. No, that mad man behind her wanted to hurt him, and the roof wasn't going to let any of them a lot of space to evade him. They would be trapped, although so close of their friends.

"I guess... dinner's gonna be another day," Mac muffled between clenched teeth, trying to ease the tension growing. He didn't want his last minutes on earth spent in fear with the woman he loved. He swallowed the word, love, cause deep inside he did love her. More than life itself. He had never told her, and if today was his last day, then, she would never know.

"Save your strength, Mac," whispered Stella, her warm breath caressing his neck as she glanced behind her, checking where their aggressor was.

He smirked before he suddenly crunched his face in pain, the painkillers really gone by now. He exhaled deeply, the pain stabbing his head and shoulder with each step. "So, how 'bout Saturday?" he tried, as he felt suddenly very cold, a loud buzzing ringing in his ears.

"You shut the hell up!" growled the man behind them as he thrust roughly the gun in Mac's back.

Mac gave a small grunt in return. Stella shot a hatred glare at the man. Their aggressor snarled at her look.

"Don't worry, it's nothing compared to what I can really do," he threatened with a dark smile that sent chills down her spine.

Mac leaned more heavily against her as they reached a new floor. Panting loudly, she could feel his strength withering and her fear growing with each of his painful breath coming out of his weary lungs. His hair was matted in wet strands to his sagging head. His breath had become laborious and even the steps he was taking were unsure, and weak. Every new glance toward him was to see him blinking every now and then as to shave some thick veil before his eyes.

"Mac's not responsible for the death of your family," tried to reason Stella. "Your parents are."

"You shut the hell up!" the man shouted as they reached the door leading to the roof, and he pushed them both through it.

Surprised by the push, Stella stumbled, taking Mac with her. They fell directly on the concrete ground. The man laughed at their predicament as he locked the door from outside with a steel bar under the handle. Then, he pointed his gun to a wall on their left, where pipes were protruding from the floor.

"You," he said, addressing at Stella as he looked down at the two detectives messily sprawled on the ground and trying to catch their breath. "Go there." He pointed at the pipes.

Rose on her hands, Stella took a deep breath, glaring at the man. "I'm not leaving him," she threw with anger. But before she could speak more, Mac's strong arms wrapped her in a warm embrace. She could feel him trembling, fighting to get his strength back. She knew he was trying to protect her, but he was too weak, he wouldn't be able to fight without her. "Mac," she whispered to his ear.

"Then, he's dead," said the man as he lowered his gun and aimed at Mac's head.

Mac turned his back to his opponent, shielding Stella with his body. She felt him tensed, waiting for the deadly shot.

"Mac, no!" she screamed. "I'll go! Please don't shoot," she pleaded as Mac was holding her close of him.

Then, his forehead pressed against hers, and her eyes connected with his blazing turquoise. She was scared, scared to lose him. But his eyes were filled with love and sadness. He knew, she realized painfully. He knew the man was going to kill him, no matter what. Her lips tight, she saw in his eyes that he wanted to buy them sometime. Maybe it could work, she prayed, but she had a bad feeling that he was the one going to pay for this time.

"Let her go," pleaded Mac, between clenched teeth. "She's not the one you want." His breath coursed over her sweaty cheeks as he mouthed a small forgive me.

The man behind them laughed at their screams. "I don't care about her."

A cold shiver ran down her spine at the man's words. She stared at Mac. His face was flushed and glistening from his struggle to be able to move and talk.

Swallowing the pain to get separated from Stella but hoping it would save her life, Mac gently pushed her from his chest. He could see the pain and fear in her emerald eyes, but he couldn't act otherwise. He would buy her sometime, and maybe their friends would make it on time for her. He muffled back the pain shooting through his muscles, and sat on his feet. His breath short, he gave her a warm, reassuring smile.

"He's gonna kill you," she whispered through a wobbling voice. "Don't do that, Mac. Please."

His good hand nestled around her neck, he leaned his forehead against hers, flushed face against sad tremors. "Please go," he asked her, his voice a whisper. Their eyes inches from each other, locked, trying to break time and space forever as their breath mixed. "For me, Stell. ....Please, trust me," he said softly as their faces broke apart.

"Do as he said," the man growled, as his gun pointed at Mac's head. "Or I shoot him right now."

She nodded slowly at Mac as the cold air of the roof could now blow between them, chilling their exhausted bones and souls in a dreadly presage. Without a word, and her eyes locked with his, she stood up and took a step back toward the wall. The gleaming sunset cut his frail shape as she couldn't leave his eyes; his reassuring smile plastered on his face telling her that everything was going to be okay. She knew he was lying to protect her, and she admired his bravery facing death. As her back touched the wall, the cold reality sank into her heart that maybe, it was the last time that he smiled like that to her.

With a wicked grin, the man tossed her a black, plastic strap and ordered her to tie her wrists to the smallest pipe. Glancing furtively at Mac, who was now standing and swaying on his feet, she hoped he knew what he was doing and had a plan. She slid the band against her wrists, and tried to keep some room to get herself free. But the man, wasn't stupid and pointing his gun at Mac, he circled him and headed for Stella. Then, with a big, wicked smile grazing his lips, he pulled at the strap to clog her wrists together. Stella flinched as the blood flow in her wrists was now reduced to a thin throb, and her movements hindered. Fear appeared in her eyes as the man grinned at her, and then turned to Mac, who was wobbling on his legs. She saw him shivered as the cold wind dried his sweating body, as if he was all alone on this roof; alone to fend for their life.

Mac looked with disgust as the man had strapped Stella's wrists. Somehow he had hoped, she would have more space to maneuver than him, but he had been wrong, this guy knew what he was doing. He had planned everything from the crossfire, to secure the door accessing to the roof, to the plastic straps that was now trapping his partner. He swallowed the lump in his throat. From the moment they had started to climb the stairs, he knew what his fate was, his only worries were to make sure that Stella wouldn't follow the same deadly fate. He took a deep breath, ready to take his last steps if it was to save his partner. Now, that she was on the side, he hoped he could buy her enough time to get rescued by Don and Danny. He knew without a doubt his friends would find them. The only question was when?

"You got me now," he voiced, trying to divert the man's attention from Stella.

As soon as his voice echoed on the roof, the man took a step in his direction, a wicked smile plastered on his face. Mac shivered at the darkness the man's eyes threw at him, as if probing his soul in search of the best way to hurt him. A loud headache hammered in his skull as he spoke.

"What's your name?" Mac asked, trying to buy some time, though his legs were dangerously about to buckle under him. He clenched his teeth as he swayed a little, now wasn't the time to show any weakness. He took a deep breath and summoned his remaining strength to stay up.

The man looked carefully at Mac, scanning every part of his being, then, his gun pointed at Stella again. Mac's heart skipped in his chest as he took a sluggish step toward them.

"Take one more step and she's dead," the man voiced, daring Mac to try.

Mac instantly stopped where he was, his hands clenched into fists as the gun lingered over his partner's body. "I thought you wanted me?" he asked with despair. "Leave her alone," he pleaded.

The man scorned at Mac. "I want you to suffer like I did," he stated with anger.

Mac realized suddenly what terrible mistake he had done, foolishly he had thought the man would focus his anger towards him when Stella would be out of the game, but instead, he was using her to get to him. "Then, kill me," he yelled in anger, his good hand smashing his chest like a target. Stella shot him a scared look at his words. "I won't run."

"Mac, no," she called desperately, but was cut short by the man's answer.

"Kneeled," the man ordered with a grin, his gun still aimed at Stella.

His heart beating behind his temples, Mac crumbled on his feet and kneeled, his breath short. His green, ocean eyes met Stella's and silently asked her to forgive him for what he was about to do.

"Hands on your head," growled the man as he took a step in Mac's direction, his gun still aimed at Stella.

Wincing, Mac raised his arms to his head. The move pulled on his wounded shoulder and his face wrinkled from the hot, stabbing pain coursing through his body. He blinked to shave the drowsiness induced by his new blood loss and caught the fear reflected in Stella's eyes as her trembling lips were forming his name silently. Small tears welled down her cheeks as she realized the commitment he had taken.

The man paced around Mac as a hyena enjoying its future feast. "You took my family from me," voiced the man as he stepped behind Mac and violently kicked him in the ribs. He smiled as he felt the bone broke under his boots and Mac was thrust on his side, pain wrenching his body.

"Mac," called Stella as she pulled on her straps. The thin plastic band bit into the flesh, but she didn't care. What was happening was cruel and inhuman, Mac couldn't even defend himself because of the threat on her life. Quickly, she rubbed the band against the concrete at the base of the pipe, hoping to free herself.

"C'mon, marine," yelled the man. "Don't tell me you're already giving up!" He snarled at Mac bent in pain.

Spilling blood from his mouth, Mac raised on his good hand and remained on his knees as the man faced him with a big smirk. Mac wiped the blood from his lips, and shot to his enemy a dangerous glare. He wasn't ready to yield before him, even though he had to concentrate to breathe and ignore the flare of his broken rib.

"Good," the man smiled. "Don't forget, your hands on your head," he pointed the gun at Stella. "You don't want me to lose a bullet in her, right?"

_Oh, God._ Stella watched helpless as Mac brought his hands back behind his head before the man smashed his gun into his back. Her partner slanted forward, gasping and unable to breathe, his face wrenched in pain. With more energy, she rubbed the plastic band against the concrete, not caring if she was grazing the back of her hands as well.

Out of breath, and his lungs on fire, Mac realized he wasn't going to hold on too long at this rhythm. He was too weak to sustain more blows without passing out. Then, the man yelled over him, speaking about Stella. As his blurred mind conveyed her face before his eyes, he pushed on his good arm to lift his exhausted body, and kneeled before his nemesis. The world spun before him for a second before he could really take a long breath and clear his mind.

"Hands," yelled the man as he waved the gun toward Stella.

Mac's blurry vision glanced toward her as his hands went back behind his head with more difficulties. His face contorted in pain through the shooting pain coming all over his body. In a haze, he thought he saw her arms moving actively or rubbing against something, and prayed it wasn't just his imagination. Then, he felt the stenchy breath of his aggressor before him as his face stood inches of his ear.

"Don't worry, I'll take care of her," said the man as Mac saw him raised the gun toward his head.

The gun aimed at him, Mac's instinct kicked in, and with the force of a desperate hope, he pushed on his legs, giving all he had left. He threw his battered body into the man. The blow took his aggressor by surprise and his grip released his deadly weapon that went flying under a chunk of messy iron bars.

Stella's heart stopped the moment their aggressor raised his gun toward Mac's head. She knew he wasn't playing anymore. She pulled on the straps but the band resisted. Desperate, she called Mac's name as she thought for the last time. But her partner seemed to still have some strength left, and before the trigger was pulled he had jumped on his opponent, head first. She swallowed her fear and continued to rub the straps with more energy. Mac needed her more than ever.

Mac felt with content as his opponent's lungs emptied from the blow. But the man wasn't in the same shape than him, and he was quick to get back to his feet. With rage, he kicked Mac's ribs again. Groaning, Mac rolled into his opponent's legs. The man stumbled, and they both rolled toward the edge of the roof. But before they could reach the small wall separating them from the fall down the street, Mac took advantage of his adversary. Crushing him under his weight, he punched him with all his strength remaining. He felt the nose break under his fingers and the guy screamed with small yelps as blood gushed out from his broken nose while he tried to stand up.

He cursed at Mac as he pressed on his bleeding nose and sent his knee into Mac's face. Knocked from the blow, Mac was thrust against the small wall separating him from a 19 story fall. The wall bit angrily into his back, sending more jolts of pain through his body. He gasped loudly, trying to breathe as the man pressed an arm over his throat, choking him. Stars danced before his eyes as his vision greyed. He tried to push his aggressor, and the man quickly retaliated by violently punching his wounder shoulder. Hot flaring pain burst in Mac's body and head. The choke deepened around his throat, and Mac realized his strength was gone for good, as he only succeeded to weakly grab the man's collar. As air emptied his lungs, he lost his grip against the man and his hand fell limply on the ground. So that's how he was going to die, he thought bitterly. Strangled to death and with Stella to witness his failure. His head sagged on the side, but before he could slumber into oblivion, the man released his grip, and his lungs hungrily filled with air. He heaved in pain unable to move or talk.

Stella saw the fight turning into the advantage of their opponent as the man took a step back from a drowsy Mac to grab an iron bar. Blood appeared on the concrete where she was rubbing the band, then she tugged at the straps again and with great satisfaction, felt the plastic break; she was free. But as she stood up, she saw Mac being pulled up to his feet and the iron bar whacked forcefully into his ribs. Her partner slanted with a jerk on the side, his throat emitting a tearful moan as the man kept his hold on him.

Released from his opponent's grip, Mac swayed a moment on his legs, the hot pain wrenching his ribs. He tried to step back but his bare feet met the small wall right behind him. The loud rumbling of the city echoed behind him. Unable to defend himself, he saw in a blurry haze his opponent raising the bar a second time over his head, ready to give the final blow. He blinked wearily as blood seeped into his eyes, praying that Don and Danny would make it on time to save Stella. He noted without fear, that rage blazed in his opponent's dark eyes as the bar fell toward him. In a slow motion, he vainly raised his good arm over his head in a desperate move to protect himself. Groggy, he waited for the lethal blow to connect with his arm and broke the bone before it would fracture his skull. But then, a shot echoed through the hissing wind. He blinked, swaying wearily on his legs.

The bar dropped just before his feet in clicking sounds. The man before him looked down at his chest. Not really understanding what had happened to him. The man's hand brushed his chest as to shave what had stung him. Then, he realized his deadly fate as he brought it before his eyes, a crimson liquid smearing them.

Mac swallowed hardly, trying to breathe as his brain was trying to make sense through the thick haze wrapping his mind. His nemesis before him looked up, and raised a hand covered with blood towards Mac. A glassy stare filled the man's eyes. With a wicked grin tugged at his lips, his enemy took a step toward him.

Stella's heart was beating too fast as her hands dropped to her side. She stared blankly at the two frames, her right hand still gripping the smoking gun tightly nestled in her palm. Without even thinking, as soon as she had found herself free, she had gone for the gun. Seconds later, without realizing it, she was pulling the trigger as the man was about to kill Mac. But then, as her sight lay on the weary frame of her partner swaying dangerously near the edge of the roof; she witnessed evil in march as their opponent took a step toward Mac. The gun dropped on the ground, as she dashed toward both men. Her mind screamed a painful no as she realized what the man was about to do.

His back to the edge of the roof, Mac saw with fear as the man stepped toward him. His hands raised, he grabbed Mac's collar and threw him off balance. Too weak to resist anymore, Mac lost his balance. His bare heels collided with the small wall, helping his enemy to push him over the edge.

"I'm taking you with me," his nemesis growled as both men fell over the edge.

In a desperate move, Mac tried to grab at something, anything, with his good arm. But only cold air brushed his fingers as he felt his body claimed by gravity. He closed his eyes. It was the end. A small satisfaction filled his mind as he fell. At least, his nemesis hadn't hurt Stella. Then, something closed on his wrist and instead of falling his face collided with the hard concrete of a wall in a hard blow. Although he was knocked out by the shock, his instinct managed to send enough strength to his fingers to grip around the thing that kept him from falling further down the street. Out of breath, he looked up through the haze covering his vision and his ocean eyes met the green jewels of his partner.

"Hang on, Mac!" she screamed as the move had torn a muscle in her shoulder, sending jolts of pain; her arm now tugged by Mac's weight. She saw him looked up to meet her flushed face through the straining efforts. He gave her a weary smile.

"Stell," he whispered, as his body dangled limply, his good arm the only thing keeping him into the world of the living. Then, his wrist slipped a little inside Stella's bloody grip.

She screamed. She tightened her grip but Mac's weight was pulling her down as well. Her other hand clutched at the edge of the wall hindered her own body to fall over, while the hard, concrete wall was poking her side in pain. Her hand tightened around his wrist, but unfortunately, her small dressing and her bloody, cut skin rendered her grip more slippery within the minute. She looked at Mac in torment. She didn't know how to pull him to her. She wasn't strong enough to do it. Especially with only one arm to take him back to safety. She needed her other hand if she didn't want them both to fall.

Mac quickly realized the dire situation Stella had put herself into in order to save him, his body pulling her down toward a common deadly fate. He locked his eyes with her, trying to shave the blurriness of his vision. He wanted to see her face, just one last time.

She saw her partner staring back at her with fear as he had realized that he was dragging her with him. Her heart was on the verge of exploding in her chest as she saw him twitching his wrist and felt him slid further from her grip. Her heart raced in fear.

"Mac, no! Don't do that!" she yelled from the bottom of her heart, her fear to lose him too real.

"I don't want ya to fall with me, Stell," he mumbled, his voice wobbling through the pain he could see in her eyes.

"I'm not falling, Mac," she screamed, lying as she felt her hand clutching at the concrete wall tightening even more, her knuckles going white. "And you're not gonna die!"

With a deep sigh, Mac looked down. Through his blur, he discerned yellow blinking lines moving. _Probably traffic_. He blinked, he was too exhausted to hang on, and he was pulling down his stubborn partner, he had no choice.

As he looked up, his voice came out soft and pleading. "Please Stell, let me go."

"Never Mac, I'll never let you go," she screamed, her heart burning in pain.

He could hear sobs wobbling in her voice, but he couldn't let her die because of him. With the little strength remaining in his body, he shot her his most charming smile as if everything was going to be all right and spoke softly. "I'll be okay, Stell."

She locked her eyes with him and could see he was serious. He really expected her to let him fall. "C'mon, Mac, Damn it! Can't you climb or something? I mean I can try to pull you up but...but..." she said, her voice trailing off as she realized he was smiling lovingly at her. "What?"

"I'm done, Stell," he said, feeling his head weighing even more. He blinked, trying to shave off the weariness and as to picture his words, he was suddenly run by long tremors and his head sagged for a few seconds in throbbing pain.

"Mac? Mac?" He was freaking her out. If he was unconscious how the hell was she going to pull him up? "Mac, please answer me!" her voice pleaded between the buildings painted in the golden rays of dusk.

Then, she saw his eyes twitching before he finally raised his head toward her. She bit her lower lip seeing the excruciating pain wrenching his face as he blinked several times, fighting darkness.

"Stell... Let go...' me." He slurred. He was tired. The end was close, he could feel it. So, no need to take her with him. "Can't mov'...done." His eyes fluttered, but remained open.

"I'm not leaving you!" She snapped in anger. No way she was abandoning him.

Taking a deep breath to clear his mind, Mac pulled his best smile trying to hide his pain. "Please Stell,... for once,... listen '...me... Let '...go." He repeated through his harsh breathing.

She shook her head in denial as her body slanted further over the edge, her grip on the wall becoming weaker and the wall poking her side starting to hinder her breathing.

"Damn it!...Stella!" Mac yelled in panic, as he felt her being dragged more in his fall. Burning tears wetted his eyes, his vision a complete blurred. "Please...Stell, ah...I care too much about you,...don't die... 'cause of me," he confessed between his weary breath.

"I'm not letting you go!" she stated with anger about his unacceptable request. She couldn't lose him. She cared about him too much. No, she couldn't resign herself to let him go. Either she saved him, or she was going down with him. As a response to her mental wish, her body slanted further towards the void as she let out a small yelp of surprise and pain. The concrete wall grazed her soft skin over her side, sending more pain into her chest.

Mac cursed as he felt him going down further, taking her with him. _God. _Hot tears welled down his cheeks. _Not Stella. Not her. _He couldn't let her sacrifice her life for him, not like that. Never. Taking a deep breath, he mobilized the last bit of energy he had left to move his wounded arm. His body slowly swayed in her grip. His shoulder cried in pain under the wrenching effort as his hand finally met Stella's, and he panted harshly. Softly, the cold wind lifted his wet scrubs, cooling his aching body and sending more shivers along his spine.

Stella's eyes widened, her gut twitching madly at the sudden realization of what Mac was doing. She stared with a gripping fear as his own hand closed on her fingers that held his wrist. Her eyes locked with his as he tried to give her a weak smile.

"Mac, please don't," she cried in pain, begging him not to do it.

He smiled weakly. "Forgive me," he whispered as he began to lift one of her fingers from his wrist. "I love you," he murmured as the wind brought his warm words to her in a painful confession.

"No. Mac, please," she pleaded, fighting the tears than threatened to blur her vision. Her heart wrenched in pain. "I prefer to die than live without you," she cried in tears as her emerald gaze met Mac's sad eyes.

"Stell," he mumbled too tired as he felt with joy his wrist slid further from his partner's fingers. His wounded arm dropped back limply to his side, unable to achieve his goal: freeing himself from her grip. His head sagged from the wrenching headache stabbing his brain, and his vision grew darker. _Not now,_ he thought, fighting the darkness, his head too heavy to look at her. _Please, don't let me drag her to death_, he prayed.

Stella watched with fear as Mac went limp and she lost more grip on his wrist. Then, his weight was too much and her heart stopped. The world turned into a deadly silence around her as her fingers felt in slow motion Mac's wrist slipping away from her. She heard her voice yelled in horror as she was losing him. Desperate, she prayed to wake up, that it was only a nightmare, that this wasn't happening, she wasn't losing Mac. _Oh, God, no!_ But then a shadow appeared next to her. The dark shape bent beside her as Mac's wrist definitely escaped her grip. Her eyes closed a second thinking she had lost him forever. It couldn't be real. She couldn't have lost him. _Please no._

"Stell," came a voice behind her. "You okay?"

The moment she opened her eyes, she felt an arm around her waist, and her heart started to beat again when she saw Mac was still dangling against the wall. But this time, it was Don that was holding him. Both hands tightened around his wrist, her friend was pulling him up as Danny was tugging at his belt from behind. She felt herself being pulled backward as the voice repeated the same word, but more pressing this time. She turned toward the man behind her as he helped her to sit on the ground, as her legs immediately crumbled under her. She looked up and gave him a sad, weary look.

"Help, Mac, Sheldon," she breathed out slowly as she felt her body giving up from exhaustion and fear.

Sheldon nodded as he bent over the wall and grabbed Mac under his armpits while Don was taking care of his legs. Both men, lay their limp friend on the ground. Stella crawled next to him and cradled his bruised face between her wounded, bleeding hands. She smiled as his eyes cracked open when she called his name. Gently, she caressed his cheeks as a thin line appeared at the place of his eyes, his eyelids too heavy to be lifted further.

"We got you, Mac," she said, her eyes filled with joy as he was still alive. His lips moved sluggishly but no sound came out. "It's okay, you can rest now," she softly whispered as she tenderly kissed his forehead, brushing back bloody strands of hair stuck on his clammy skin.

Too drained to do anything else, Mac closed his eyes and let the darkness wrapped him, his mind lingering in the sweet comfort that Stella was alive; she hadn't fallen with him.

Danny and Don watched with worries as Stella let escape her tears, while Sheldon was checking Mac's fresh head cut and his torn stitches. A couple of nurses and docs rushed through the broken door that he and Don had crushed under their repeated shoulders blows. Then, in a couple of minutes Mac's limp body was strapped again over a stretcher and wheeled back inside. Stella closely followed him as Sheldon was supporting her frail battered body.

Danny cursed, wondering how in hell, after they had planned everything to protect Mac and Stella the guy had still been able to get inside his room. He swore that he would have the badges of those who had been unable to check Mac's aggressor ID before letting him in.

Don watched with a stern look as Danny paced the roof, avoiding carefully the smears of blood sucked by the concrete ground. _Mac and Stella's blood, again._ He shook his head as he stepped next to Danny. His hand softly squeezed his friend's shoulder. He knew that Danny was probably mad at himself for leaving Mac's room. If any of them had stayed longer with Sheldon, then, none of these things would have happened. He sighed, and yet, his mind was telling him, that the guy could have lurked in the dark for the best time and maybe arrived when Mac was totally alone. Then, the end could have turned even worse. He squeezed gently his friend's shoulder.

"Let's go check on 'em, alright?"

Danny nodded silently as his gaze shaved the messy ground. He glanced at Don. Behind his friend the sunset was giving away his last crimson rays, the night slowly spreading its wings over New York City. His lips tight, his steps led them to the stairs. At least Mac and Stella were alive, and that deadly day was finally over.

_**xxx**_

Stella sat quietly before Mac's door. The nurses and doctors attending at his new wounds had asked her to wait outside, and reluctantly she had slumped back on this cold chair, waiting in dread. She knew that they needed their space to take care of her partner, but after all they had been through, leaving him alone was too much to ask her. She sighed painfully, but his well being was her first priority. So she had stepped back as Sheldon had gently led her to sit on a chair.

Then, without realizing it, he was crouched before her, examining her wrists and hands. She was too exhausted to resist as a nurse brought him a medkit and he began to clean the fresh cut grazing her wrists. The antiseptic burned at her skin, but it didn't matter. The world had disappeared around her. Her mind was with Mac right now. Even if she couldn't see him, she was carefully listening at any unnatural sound that could come from his room. Through the talks and words displayed, she focused on the slow beating of his heart monitor indicating that he was alive. That both of them had held on long enough to be rescued by their friends a second time. It was a miracle. She let out a deep exhausted breath as her eyes watered freely at the realization that she had almost lost him, again. And this time, it wasn't just because of their nemesis. No, at one point, he, himself had tried to take his own life to save hers. She swallowed the awful scene her mind was replaying again and again: his wrist slipping away from her grip and him falling as he was calling her name a last time.

She closed her eyes, a trembling hand pressed over her face, trying desperately to hide her sobs from her friend. Then, she felt someone sit beside her and that someone led her against his chest. She could smell the masculine scent of aftershave, as his arm wrapped around her shoulder.

"You know Mac is strong," spoke softly Sid. Sheldon nodded to the ME to give Stella some privacy and led Danny and Don to grab some coffee. "You both are going to be alright in no time," added the older ME.

She dried her tears, not wanting to break like that in front of her friend. She was so tired. The world around her was a painful blur, shrouding her in a thick cotton haze. All sounds and sensations reduced to a minimum as her mind was focused on one man: Mac.

Sid smiled. "It's okay, Stell," he said, as she sat upright avoiding the close proximity.

She swallowed back her tears. She was exhausted and scared for Mac. And although Sid's comforting presence was a good thing, she couldn't break now. It wasn't because of Sid, it was just her. She needed Mac, she needed to feel his strong arms around her; to hear his baritone voice chuckled; she needed him.

With a pained expression, Sid patted her shoulder as the doctor exited Mac's room and walked toward them.

"He's gonna be fine," the doctor announced. "More muscles strained and his stitches have reopened, but no real worries. Though we will get him to surgery tomorrow to redo his stitches correctly. But for now his life isn't in danger, and I prefer that he rests and regains some strength for the next surgery." He nodded towards Stella. "He's not really conscious right now, but through his haze, he mumbled your name." With a smile, he patted her shoulder as he stepped aside.

Her worried face broke into a faint smile at the mention of her partner calling her name while unconscious.

"When he'll wake up, try to remind him that stunts are forbidden in the hospital," smiled the doctor.

"I will," she promised as she headed in haste to his door. Both, the doctor and Sid, watched with a growing smile tugged at their lips as she pushed the door and entered his room.

The regular beeping of his heart monitor welcomed her as she stepped inside and watched the nurses applying a new dressing over his wounded shoulder. One of the nurses turned toward her a complicit smile. "Since you're always with him, we will dress him up later with your help," said the nurse.

Stella's face suddenly blushed at the thought of dressing him up. The nurses noticed her discomfort, and chuckled lightly.

"Mostly for you to learn to help him doing the right move with his arms," added the nurse with a smile as she carefully slid his arm into a new sling.

Stella's eyes went to Mac's still form and noticed that they had left his chest bare, except for the dressing over his shoulder and the white bandage wrapping his ribs. She nodded silently to the nurse, trying to hide her discomfort of thinking that they had meant to dress him up from head to toe.

As the two nurses exited, her face turned crimson, her mind now playing with the image of her partner in a less clothed manner. But her pale color came back quickly as she noticed the deep frown creasing his forehead; _pain_.

Her lips tight, she stepped to his bed. Her warm, trembling hand cupped his left cheek, and stroked his face, slowly checking that he was real. She swallowed the painful knot in her throat, as she realized that she wasn't dreaming, he was real. Her tender sight caressed his face, noting every thin wrinkles formed by the devouring pain in was in. With sorrow, her fingers followed his jaw line and to his temple. Her sight resting over the dark bags under his closed eyes. With a deep sigh, she looked at the new IV bags and other medical lines plugged into his still body. She watched with comfort his chest slowly rising and his heart monitor beeping regularly. Gently, her fingers followed the curve of his cheek to his temple, and she smiled as his lips moved slowly. He mumbled something. Intrigued, she bent her face inches of his as he spoke again.

"Stell..." He murmured softly in a whimper.

With a small smile tugged at her lips, she tenderly brushed his sweaty hair, careful not to rub on his new stitches under his hairline, and leaned quietly to deposit a soft, warm kiss on his cheek.

As if he could see her, his face cracked into a weak smile, and he whispered her name again. Gazing at the loving sight of her partner deeply asleep and visibly dreaming of her, Stella pulled the blanket over his bare chest, mindful of his cracked ribs. Like a mother tugging her sick child, she brushed his hair back and smiled.

"I'm here, Mac," she softly whispered to his ear before she leaned back in the chair. Feeling the world turning back to normal around her, her hands gently cuddled his in a never ending bond. She looked down at his sprain wrist. She wasn't about to let him go, never.

_**xxx**_

The crowd of reporters was massed at the feet of One Police Plaza, HQ of the NYPD. It was in front of a row of black microphones that Chief Sinclair stepped before the cameras. The flashes creaked on his face as New York was slowly entering a well deserved night.

"Evening New York," said the Chief. He nodded to one of his men, and stared seriously at the mass of reporters who instantly shut up, ready to record his words.

"Soon this morning, the NYPD was caught in a crossfire on the rooftop of Manhattan. Our forces sustained at the moment one casualty and six wounded. Two detectives were left wounded and stranded as the offender had set a network of heavy riffles pointed at them and hindered the NYPD action to provide a quick rescue." He took a deep breath and clenched his teeth. "Late in the afternoon, after hard work to save their comrades, the NYPD was finally able to rescue them. The offender, trying to take revenge on one of the detectives pursue them to the hospital where they were being taken care of. Although he endangered their lives a second time, it is my pleasure to announce you now, that Detectives Bonasera and Taylor are now safe and resting at the Queen of Mercy. Desperate to take revenge on one of the officers, the offender took his own life and fell from the Queen of Mercy's roof two hours ago." The Chief looked at the crowd, their microphones pointed at him. "Though if the issue concerning Detective Taylor's life had been uncertain for a couple of hours, it is not the case anymore, and the head of the Crime Lab will be back on the job after a well deserved rest." Sinclair looked at the crowd before him, his declaration over.

A reporter waved his hand attracting the attention of the Chief. "Yes, Mike," said the Chief.

"Is it true that the aggressor of Detectives Bonasera and Taylor is from Iraq? So, can we assume it's part of a bigger terrorist attack?"

Murmurs travelled through the crowd.

The Chief sighed. "No, Mike it's not a terrorist attack. The offender, Abu Al-Jafaari, also named Art Jasler, took a personal interest in one of the detectives and wanted no more that take his life. It is true that this man spent his childhood in Iraq, but with the loss of his family, he came to America where he obtained a law degree, and lived as any of us. It is strictly out of pure revenge that he attacked the NYPD and targeted one of its detective, nothing else." He looked at another reporter and nodded to a blond woman. "Yes, Cheryl?"

"Chief, you said Detective Taylor will soon be back on the job. Well, we all know his reputation as a hard worker type." She smirked and the crowd emitted a small chuckle. "But can we know the nature of his injuries? And why the weapon used for the crossfire were Police issue?"

Sinclair cringed at the mention of the police weapon. "Well, Detective Taylor was shot by a sniper riffle, 300 calibers from a Remington 700P. To add to that, he sustained multiple blows to the head and chest, and although he lost a great amount of blood, his doctor is confident that he would be up and about in no time. I guess as you said it, we all know his tenacity to get back to work."

"Yes," Cheryl continued seeing that Sinclair was avoiding her second question. "The city is grateful to the Head of the Crime Lab for his hard work, but can we know how a weapon only used by law enforcement had been found in the hands of his aggressor?"

Sinclair raked his throat. "As you stated it, this weapon is only in use in special force such as NYPD, you're right about that." _No need to deny it, or they gonna eat you alive._ "Now, you may recall few months ago that several weapons were stolen while traveling to New York. As we tracked them, it appeared the weapons used today were from this robbery."

"Chief, Chief," voiced other reporters as lights flashed on his face.

"That will be all. Thank you." Then, the Chief stepped back and entered the NYPD office.

_**xxx**_

Lindsay snuggled in Danny's arms as he changed the channel after the Chief conference. He sighed deeply in their couch. The day had been too long, and too strained to keep his mind away from his friends.

"They're okay Danny," she said feeling her husband anxiety seeping through his breath.

"I'm sorry, Linds, it's just that I can't take those images out of my mind. I mean, I'd never seen Mac so vulnerable and..."

"...And you're wondering what will happen next?"

He nodded. "I just never thought that anything could make Big Mac crumbled like that. I mean, it's just..."

Lindsay gently stroked his chest with her hand. "You thought he was invincible?"

"Kinda somethin' like that," admitted Danny, as his hand gently pressed on her back.

She smiled as she snuggled her head over his shoulder. "Well, you can say he is. After all these attempts he's still here with us."

Danny looked far away and kissed his wife forehead. "Yeah, he is." A small smile grazed his lips. "And thanks to Stella too."

Lindsay smiled. "Yeah don't forget that Messer, there's always a woman behind a man's strength." She smirked.

He chuckled lightly. "I know. I don't know what I would do if..."

"Shh," she said as she softly deposited a soft kiss on his lips. "We're all fine now," she finished after leaving him the time to breathe.

He smiled, and pressed her body closer, his arms wrapped around her. "I love you, Linds."

"Love you too, Messer," she whispered as she closed her eyes, and deeply sank in the loving arms of her husband, knowing that their friends would be all right now.

_**xxx**_

The warmth from the bright sun shining outside caressed his cheek and made him stir. With a soft smile gracing his face, Mac opened his eyes to a new day, expecting to be greeted by the loving face of his partner like the last two days. But this time, only the white ceiling of his room was before him. Frowning, he looked around to sadly realize that he was alone, no Stella. The chair she had occupied and almost called her home for two days was desperately empty, and somehow it didn't fit with his expectations. He sighed deeply, a small knot forming in his stomach. She was gone. His lips tight, he turned back to look at the rising sun. Where was she? He was almost sure she had been by his side the last two days, or was it three? He frowned trying to remember. Or maybe he had dreamed of her being by his side. He shook his head. No, he clearly remembered some of their talks, he smirked, if he could say that he had talked.

Their last discussion came back to his mind, and he remembered something she had said about going to pick up some clothes for the both of them. His brows creased, not sure if she had said that yesterday or the day before. Giving up, he let his head sank back into the fluffy pillow. These last days had passed in a blur for him. Being in and out every hour, unable to keep track of time or even to put up with the simplest discussion, always waking up with new faces around him and few hours less of his life. He had been so drained, so exhausted. He sighed. Two or three days, he wasn't sure, had passed since Don and Danny had rescued them for the second time on a roof. And during these blurry days, he hadn't been able to really talk to Stella. He remembered asking her if she was okay, but he couldn't be sure if she was really fine as he had finished by falling asleep before he could check further her statement. Deep down, he knew she wasn't. Her tired eyes, and the exhaustion she seemed to bear on her shoulders were good indications she wasn't properly resting, probably because of him, he grumped mentally. Always because of him.

Hopefully, he was done with that, he hoped, noticing that his IV seemed less crowded with bags than the last couple of days. He closed his eyes trying to remember the last thing he had said to Stella. It was the day before, and like everyday he had woken up several times, drowsy and not really aware of what was really happening around him. He had seen someone exiting his room. He frowned, he had deduced that it had probably been a nurse as he remembered a light being shoved into his eyes and voices around him. The word _fine_ had echoed in his mind, waking him up to the smiling face of Stella, though clear worries lingered in her beautiful emeralds.

He had tried to move and sit but as always she had kept him protectively against the bed, her hand carefully pressed over his chest. And while she had lifted the bed with a remote for him to see, he had lingered in the soft pressure of her hand over his beating heart, a small smile tugged at his lips; which hadn't come unnoticed by the fine detective that his partner was.

"_You seemed to feel better," _she had said, sadly taking back her hand from his chest as the head of the bed had stopped moving.

Without answering his head had turned to look at her. His gaze had followed the line of her soft chin, the small groove of her sweet cheeks and to her golden curls falling in a shining rain over her shoulders. He had felt good at the moment, in peace. His lips curled upward at the memory of her loving face.

"_Mac__?"_ she had called, probably intrigued by his insisting gaze. But he hadn't really cared, he had just been happy to see her, alive and sounding well, and before he had been able to say anything his eyes had shut again to wake up hours later.

This time, it was dark outside and his room was a bit colder, silence was filling the poor lighted place, though it was enough for him to distinguish the nestled form of his partner against his bed; her head resting on top of his hand. Another smile had appeared on his face that day as he had gently pulled his hand from hers and had dared to do a thing he had only dreamed until then. Afraid he would wake her up from a well deserved rest, he had delicately brought his hand over her hair to caress them. The soft curls had danced in his palm as his fingers had travelled through her golden hair. Still half sat, he had slowly bent toward her, his face inches of her face before he had softly kissed her cheek. _"Thank you for saving my life,"_ he had whispered to her sleeping face, before being greeted by her murmuring his name.

A smile had then grazed his lips, happy to be part of her dreams. He sighed, remembering his confession on the roof and the words he had told her. He had wanted to tell her for a long time now, but the roof and the way it happened, hadn't been the way he had envisioned to do it. He closed his eyes. He hoped she would forgive him for it. He remembered her tenacity to hold on to him, and her words, but she had probably said them out of friendship, and because he was about to die. But now she knew that he loved her. A knot formed in his throat, his lips tight. The next days would be very straining for him. He had to talk to her, to know if she acknowledged his feelings or if his words had altered their friendship. Fear crept slowly inside his heart. He didn't want to lose her.

Slowly, he opened his eyes and stared at the window. The sun rays warmed his face, and he blinked, his body relaxing from the well greeted heat. He was alive. From the time he had taken that shot, he hadn't been sure he would be able to make it. But he was here, and it was because of Stella. He knew if she hadn't been there, he would have died from blood loss, then infection, and again from his fall. He sighed. Yep, she had been there for him every step of the way, and she hadn't spared herself in the process. He looked at the night stand and noticed the phone as an idea soared through his mind.

With a small grin, and a few winces, he managed to grab the phone and dialed the number he knew that would help him. Surely, he could do that for her.

_**xxx**_

The warm afternoon sun grazed her cheek and winked mischievously at her face, as it hid between the silver towers. Stella pouted and turned at the sound of the horns behind her. A cab had just quickly stopped as a poor dog had crossed the street. Her lips tight, she continued toward the hospital entrance a duffel bag dangling loosely on her shoulders. She smiled weakly, her brows slowly creased. Hopefully today he would be awake, and he would be able to keep up a conversation. Even if she wasn't going to tell him, she had missed his smile and his warm, green eyes locking with hers. She had missed him a lot; she had missed him being conscious and alive beside her. She bit her lower lip, wondering what was going to happen to them now. Since his doctor had said that he would be fine, her mind hadn't stopped repeating his last words on the roof. The one he had whispered thinking it was the end for him. Was he really serious? Did he really love her? A bigger smile finally grazed her lips, excited at the idea that he could feel the same way as she did.

She nodded at the nurse at the entrance desk and entered the lift, pushing on his floor button. She wondered if he was going to back down now, and try to act as if nothing had happened. She sighed. It could be a real possibility. There was no rush anymore, no reason not to go back to their little game where they carefully avoided the subject. She tightened her lips. But she was fed up of this game, she wanted to tell him. She needed him at every moment of the day. She wanted to be able to hug him whenever she needed it, to touch him and feel his breath on her. She sighed, but now it was her turn to tell him and she hoped he hadn't changed her mind.

But hopefully, he would be awake, and she would have time to talk to him. She bit her lower lip, remembering these last couples of days. It had been tearing moments to see him get back to consciousness only for a few minutes before he was plunged back in a slumbering state. His doctor had said that it was normal. After the amount of blood he had lost, and his fever, and if you added his broken rib, he had a lot to heal before he could be back one hundred. She sighed. Even if every time he had woken up she had gladly smiled to him, encouraging him, it had been very painful to see him struggle just to stay awake. The valiant, strong man she knew had only been able to say ten words in three days. Even if she had been happy for each of his tries, it had wrenched her heart to see his eyes carved by those dark bags gazing at her in wonder, and unable to express his thoughts before he drifted back to sleep. Though she had to admit, she had spent a lot of hours just gazing at his face, wondering where his mind had taken him and to who. A small smile tugged at her lips again. Of course, she had good suspicions about the who every time he had called her in his sleep.

Another sigh escaped her lips, she hoped he wasn't going to deny his words. The doors opened and she stepped in the busy corridor, still in her thoughts, fear creeping inside her heart. Through the nurses and doctors pacing the small alley, she quickly made her way toward the end of the aisle. Then, after a minute, she found herself before his door. Taking a deep breath, she softly knocked before she pushed the door open as she hadn't heard his answer.

His room was bathed by the afternoon, shining sun and lighted his face with yellow streaks. She smiled as his face was relaxed, his eyes closed, though he was still bearing the dark bruises of his late fight. Assuming he was sleeping, she tiptoed to his bed and sat in her well known chair, dropping the duffel bag in a corner. Then, she noticed the deafening silence. Her heart skipped in her chest. She should be hearing his heart monitor, but as she looked around she noted that it was gone. The nurses had probably removed it. She sighed, it had to be a good news then. Focusing her attention on Mac, she softly slid her fingers between his and watched with delight his chest rising softly. Without even thinking about it, her thumb gently stroked the back of his hand. She watched with content as his lips slowly parted into a gentle smile, and his face turned toward her. Slowly waking up, his eyes opened and his hazy sight slowly focused on her.

"Hey," she whispered with a warm smile.

"Hey," his voice echoed softly.

"How you feelin?" she asked.

"Good enough to leave this place," he replied with a small grin, his voice still hoarse from the lack of talks.

She carefully looked at his face. Although he had plenty of rest as he had sleept the last three days, she wasn't sure it was a good idea to leave. Then, she gazed at his eyes, and noted that they were gleaming with his old daring sparkle. She was glad that he seemed to have found his strength back. But he was probably too tired to leave that soon. "Well, that depends on your doctor, I can go and see..."

"Already arranged. I was just waiting for you," he said, as he lifted his chest to sit in a better against his pillows.

"For me?" she said a bit stunned. "Why?"

He gave her a warm smile and gently squeezed her hand. "Well, I wanted to talk to you before I go back to my place," he said bitterly. Knowing that he would soon be back to his place and alone was making his heart wrenched in pain. He would miss her holding his hand and waking up to her beautiful face. He sighed inwardly, but he couldn't tell her that. He couldn't ask her to feel the same way that he did. If she hadn't talked about his words on the roof until now, it meant only one thing: feelings weren't mutual. He pushed aside his sadness and tried to convey how much he was grateful for what she did for him. His green, ocean eyes locked with hers. "I...thanks for saving my life," he said warmly, his gaze connecting with her.

She bit her lower lip, and gave him a shy smile. "You welcome." Her hand tightened around his. "That's what friends do for each other, right?" she quipped with a warm smile.

A small light gleamed in his eyes. _Friends? So be it._ He bitterly acknowledged her answer. "Thanks," he repeated, feeling that in final he shouldn't have told her. Now she was probably thinking that he had freaked out on the roof. He sighed inwardly. Too bad, he would have to cancel his plan.

"Is that for me?" he asked, pointing at the navy, duffel bag on the floor.

"Yes, I thought you would like to leave with your clothes on, though I didn't know you'd be discharged today." She frowned. "How did you do that? I asked yesterday to your doctor, and he said you needed at least two more days."

"Well, I guess I've been more convincing," he gave her a small wink.

"I see. Care to share?" She graced him with a mischievous smile.

He chuckled lightly. Even if she wasn't returning his feelings at least she seemed to behave as her usual, so he guessed he hadn't lost her friendship. "Can't tell ya all my secrets," he smirked with a grin.

"Not all but..." her face crunched. "...remember, you promise to tell me more about your military past."

Right, he had forgotten about that. "I...maybe later," he said, avoiding the subject.

She smiled warmly. She wanted him to talk to her. She knew that after all these events, his mind was still darkened by what their aggressor had said and his soul would bear the dark shadow of guilt for a long time.

With a small wince, he pushed the covers and twisted his body. His bare legs dangled from the bed, and he blushed as Stella was watching him with intensity. _Damn it!_ He had forgotten that the nurses had refused to give him scrubs this morning, so he was still wearing that gown from his second surgery, and that thing was up half way to his tight, revealing a little too much of his legs.

"Huh, I..." he frowned. "Huh, can you turned around?" he asked, his cheeks now crimson. Stella's lips curled upward and without a word, she turned to look at the shining sun outside.

Mac looked at Stella's back for a second before he let his feet dropped to the floor. The cold tiles greeted him but this time he was happy his legs didn't buckle under him. He swallowed the knot formed in his throat as he bent to grab his bag. Awkwardly, he hobbled to the bathroom, his bag in hand, and hiding as much as he could the opening in his back, showing more of his body parts than he wanted to.

"So, hm..." she started as she caught a glimpse of her partner's naked back, sliding into the bathroom. "What the doc said?" she shook her head, as she bit her lower lip. She heard him give a small curse. Of course, she was heading for small talk, but right now, knowing Mac could be undressing right behind that door was making her nervous and even blushing. She wondered why? They had shared for years the same locker room, though none had changed in front of the other. Her cheeks turned into a soft pink, remembering their small talk on the roof when she was looking for the shaft; small talk that had turned into foreplay. A wide grin spread over her lips. But then, she frowned as she wasn't hearing his small groans anymore.

"Mac?" Silence lingered in the room. Worried if he was still fine, she stood up. "Mac?" Taking a step toward the door, she heard him call her name shyly. Her heart skipping in her chest, she opened the door, and stared at Mac, stunned.

With a sheepish grin plastered on his face, he looked at her in misery. Then she realized why. Bare foot, he was wearing the pair of navy jeans she had stuffed in the bag, and his forehead was beaded with sweat.

"I...can't pull my sweater on." He dropped, trying to hide a wince as his wounded arm was trapped half way in the sleeve.

Her lips tight, she looked at his bare chest partially covered by his loose sweater. She stepped close to him, feeling the heat of his body radiating. With a shy smile tugged at her lips, she helped him to slide his right arm into the sleeve, mindful of his stitches. Her fingers grazed at the skin of his chest and she blushed at the electric shock sent through her limb. She bit her lower lip. Here wasn't the place, her mind repeated to her. _Not here, Stella._

Her breath tickled his bare chest as she helped him to slide into his sweater. He breathed slowly to lower his heart rate who had started to madly race the minute she had entered the bathroom. His gaze lowered as his eyes lingered into the soft crook of her bare neck. With care, she helped him to slide his arm into the sling, and she looked up, her eyes locking with his. He swallowed the warm desire that invaded his being and wondered if the close proximity of death and his confession hadn't freed him from his mental barriers. He stared at her gleaming emeralds, waiting in expectations. One blink from her, acknowledging his feelings and he would act on it. But she didn't. He took a deep sigh.

"Thanks," he finally mumbled, his heart about to explode in his chest. She stepped back. Frowning, he grabbed his bag and followed after her.

"So, what the doc said?" she repeated, looking at Mac with a frown as he hobbled slowly.

"That I was fit to go," he quipped with a wink.

_A wink? Again._ Why was he doing that so much, was he nervous with her? she wondered. "No, I mean did he give you instructions, list of medications..." she stared at his hunching posture as he slumped wearily on the chair, and avoided her eyes. _Definitely nervous,_ she deduced, _and not in shape to leave,_ she added for herself.

"Ah, that. Huh, there're on the night stand," he said as he put his boots on. He was too tired to put some socks on or even to tie his laces, so instead, he stuffed the laces inside the shoes, and stood up.

Stella picked up his list and looked at him with a frown, noticing his laces inside the shoes. _That's a first._ He had to be very tired to do that, she realized. But why stubbornly trying to leave then?

"You know those indications are for your dressing and what you have to do every six hours." She read more on the list. She smiled as she looked back at him. "Hopefully, I've been trained for this, so you should be fine," she quipped with a broad smile.

He widened his eyes. "What are you talking about?"

_Ah, right._ She hadn't told him about the nursing crash course she had taken when he was sleeping. "Well, your nurses taught me what was necessary to help you through this." She said with a shy smile, not talking about the numerous time she had been there to help them clean him. Well most of him, leaving them to take care of what he had of most private.

"What ya mean by that?" he felt suddenly very nervous.

"Well, to make a long story short, I'm gonna be your nurse for at least a week. I took some days off and..." her voice trailed off as she saw him becoming white. "You okay, Mac?"

"Yeah, yeah, but Stell..." _Oh, God._ This week was going to be hell. Now that she knew his feelings and hadn't returned them, how could he behave with her around and 'nursing' him? This was going to be a real torture. "You don't need to, Stell. I'll get a nurse to come and help me for the dressings and besides that I'll be fine. I mean I don't want to bother you, you've done enough already and..." his eyes connected with her emeralds as she was smiling broadly.

"Nah, Mac. It's okay," she interrupted him. No way she was going to let him out of her sight until he had completely healed. _Nope._ She would stick to him. "So, ready to go?"

He looked at the room around him as he grabbed his bag. Surely, he wasn't gonna miss this place. "All set."

She stepped next to him, and took the bag from his hand.

"You know, I can still carry my bag." He smirked. "I'm not crippled." And he didn't want her to think that he couldn't handle himself, though as the memory of his sweater came back to his mind, he couldn't say he had been really convincing on that one. His lips tight, he looked at her in misery.

"Of course, you aren't, Mac. Just let me help, okay." She stared at his green pools. She could see that he was still thinking that he was weak. She sighed and patted his arm. "Let's go, Mac," she said as she headed for the door, but kept his bag. Her hand on the handle, she was about to open the door when his warm hand covered hers.

He looked at her with remorse, noticing the white dressing wrapped around her hands. This was his fault. "You don't need to do that for me, Stell. I... I don't want you to feel obligated or anything..." his voice rambled.

She chuckled lightly as she squeezed his hand and gave him a sparkling look. "C'mon, Mac, let's get you home." She didn't want him to feel guilty or anything, but somehow she felt this cold hospital room wasn't the place to reveal their heart, so their talk should wait.

He slightly nodded, understanding that she had more to say, but here wasn't the place. He sighed, it was probably why she hadn't come this morning, pondering alone about how she was going to tell him that she wasn't interested. That she couldn't return his feelings. He sighed, but at least he was glad, they would talk some place else than in the hospital. He needed to go home and feel normal again. His lips tight, he followed her in the corridor. At least, she was safe, and right now it was just what really mattered to him, even if she was going to tell him that she didn't love him back.

_**xxx**_

She turned the key and pushed his apartment door open to let him in. With a shy smile he wobbled inside, his bag dangling freely to his side as he had managed to get it back. He lazily tossed it in a corner and turned a shy grin at her as she followed him with her own duffel bag hanging over her shoulder. He couldn't stop but wonder why she had insisted so much at being his nurse, as she called it for a week. He sure could handle himself, and...his thoughts trailed off as he remembered the bathroom. Well, yeah, he hadn't made a good point by being so incapacitated when he had pulled on his sweater. But even if he was glad to have her around, he didn't want her to be with him out of pity. And right now, he really felt as if she was there because of that. He sighed heavily.

"You know, I'll be fine, Stell. You don't need to stay," he said, hoping she would understand that he didn't want her to feel obligated toward him. He was home, and he was out of the hospital, so he was going to be fine. And further more he had to cancel his plans, now that she hadn't returned his feelings. But if she was there with him, it was going to be awkward to cancel them, with her to listen to it. He let out a small sigh.

Stella took off her jacket and let it rest on the back of his kitchen chair. She frowned as she had picked up at his heavy sigh. "Mac? You okay?" she quickly asked, looking at him with anguish. He looked so tired, and weary, his legs seeming on the verge of buckling under his weight. He shouldn't be out of the hospital, she repeated to herself.

His lips tight with remorse, his green, ocean eyes connected with her emeralds. "You don't need to stay, Stell, really. I'm a big boy, and I..."

She nodded slowly. "Do you want me to go?" she asked now not sure of what he was trying to say. Maybe he had thought about what he had said on the roof and was changing his mind. That would explain why he was trying so hard to make her leave.

His good hand rubbed the back of his neck. "I..." He sighed as he looked far behind her, he gaze lost in pain. "I can't ask you to stay...I." He didn't want to be a burden as he had already been for her. She had risked her life several times for him, and he couldn't ask her to stay just because he wanted to take her in his arms, to feel her breath on him. No, she hadn't said she loved him back. He slowly shook his head in misery. Then, he couldn't ask her to stay. But deep inside, he didn't want her to leave either. He swallowed the knot formed in his throat, and watched in misery as the shining sparkles disappeared from her eyes.

"So you want me to leave?" She repeated, her voice filled with sorrow. Did she mistake his words? Why was he now looking at her with so much pain in his eyes?

He closed his eyes, biting his lower lip. Why was she insisting so much to stay? Why was she staring at him with those eyes that made him want to protect and shield her? He stared back at her and knew that he had to try at least one more time. _No regrets,_ his mind shot. With his anxiety rising through his body, he took a shy step toward her, his legs swaying a little from exhaustion and anxiety. He waited a second to see how she was reacting. As she didn't move, he took another and was in her space.

She watched him with growing eyes as he shyly came closer, and finally stopped right before her. His breath tickled her face as she gazed at the green pools turning into a crystal, blue ocean. "Mac?" she muffled as he took a step closer and his body brushed hers. Instinctively, she took a step back and found herself against a wall. Her heart skipped in her chest as he had taken another step and his hand softly cupped her cheek. She shot him a gentle smile, as her heart pounded in her chest, about to explode.

His heart beat madly in his chest as he had trapped her against the wall, and she hadn't tried to escape his touch. A shining smile graced her face, and he took it for an invitation. Swallowing his doubts he leaned closer, his face mere inches of hers. His hand slowly drifted toward her soft neck, enjoying her delicate skin under his fingers. He smiled as his fingers were covered by her golden curls. Male aftershave mixing with the sweet floral scent of her perfume enveloped them as their warm breaths mixed together. Gently, his lips brushed hers, testing if it was all right, if she wasn't pushing him back. But as her smile widened and her eyes sparkled in expectations, he leaned closer. His body pressed against her, his burning lips finally parting and tasting hers with all his tenderness.

Sparkles of delight exploded in her body as Mac kissed her; her breath sucked by his blazing passion. She moaned from the intensity she could feel coursing through him and vibrating through her body. Then, after some long minutes they broke the kiss, out of breath. Unable to move or talk after this extraordinary moment, she felt his cheek pressed against her. She too was unable to break the contact of their skin, the need to be close devouring their souls. Surging from nowhere, she felt weak and vulnerable as the last events replayed quickly in her mind. His face growing paler, his eyes shallow while he was slowly dying in her arms. She closed her eyes, trying to muffle the pain that had eaten at her since that damn bullet had embedded in his shoulder.

He could feel her slightly trembling against him, and he wondered if it was because of him. If she had really agreed for that kiss. But then, her face nestled in his neck, and wet burning tears streaming down his neck.

"I almost lost you," she muffled as her body shook through her silent sobs.

He snaked his good arm around her waist and gently pressed her against him. Her frail body immediately snuggled closer as she was releasing all the tension from the previous days.

"I'm sorry," he whispered in her ears. "I... I..." he tried to speak, but gave up, the lump in his throat too big. Instead, he pressed her more against him, trying to ease her soft trembling. His thumb softly stroked her back. He was powerless, and wanted to wrap her in comfort, but his sling was hindering his moves. "I'm sorry, Stell," he repeated, his voice filled with remorse.

Her arms wrapped around him, eager to keep him against her, to feel him warm and alive under her touch. "Please, don't do that again," she pleaded with a weak voice.

His lips tight, his hand slipped to her neck. He gently glided his thumb over her grazed cheek. Slowly, he lifted her chin up. His eyes settled on the little scar that could have taken her away from him. Very slowly, his thumb dried her tears. He swallowed the lump in his throat as their eyes connected. "I love you, Stella," he whispered, his breath caressing her cheek. "But I can't have you give your life for me," he whispered into her ear. "I can't."

She smiled lightly, her eyes glistening through the small tears she was trying to hide. "Well, you can't expect me to watch you die, Mac, and do nothing. I don't think my heart will hold it anyway."

Biting his lips, he tenderly pressed her head against his shoulder, his fingers entwined in her golden curls, his thumb gently caressing her nape. He sighed heavily and dropped a soft kiss on her forehead. "I can't let you risk your life for me, Stell. I can't lose you," he confessed. "I care too much about you." He felt her shifting lightly in his arms.

"I care too much about you too, Mac," she whispered, drying her tears in his sweater. She could hear his heart beating, and his voice vibrating through his chest. She relaxed slowly, recognizing all the signs that made him being alive and real.

Smiling, he took a step back, his hand still gently nestled over her neck. "Then, we have a problem," he stated with a shy smile. They had to talk about it. He couldn't let her think that things weren't going to be complicated if they were heading towards this new road.

She raised a pair of red eyes on him and frowned. "What ya mean?"

He smiled warmly to reassure her. "Both stubborn," he said with a smirk. "I guess things are going to be rough and..."

"That won't change what we are," she quickly replied. "Or what we're feeling." No, their friendship would remain, no matter what. But now, she hoped they had a chance for something more.

His face lighted. "True." He searched in her sparkling, tired eyes to see if she was afraid of the future they could create. He didn't want to hurt her in anyway, but gladly he didn't see any doubt. "Let's take it slow, then." At least, this way, they would have time to build a future together, he hoped.

She nodded and sank back her head in his shoulder. She knew what he meant, and, even if she would have liked to feel his entire body trembling from joy under her fingers right now, she knew he was right. She smiled inwardly, happy than even now, he was respecting her enough to take it slow, and let her get used to him, though he didn't need to, she had waited for so long. But, he was right, they couldn't rush things. Not after what had just happened, or they would both question their implication later. And that, could be a real problem. She felt his arm snaked around her and keep her close of him. Closing her eyes she listened to his beating heart pounding in his chest. She felt good there. She belonged there. And for a moment none of them moved, nor speak, just enjoying the comforting presence of the other, it was all that mattered.

Sometime later, she felt his body slightly trembling, and she realized he was slowly swaying on his legs. But before she could say anything, he stepped back leaving her some space to breathe.

"Let's change," Mac spoke softly, a soft smile plastered on his face.

"Change?" she asked bemused, what was he talking about?

A boyish grin appeared on his face as he grabbed her hand and led her to his spare bedroom. She frowned wondering if the bedroom was the best next step to take it slow. But then, when they arrived in the room, she smiled, the pieces of the puzzle gathering together. So that's why he had wanted to leave the hospital so soon. She smiled looking at the room. On the bed, was neatly set two dresses from her wardrobe, and a pair of shoes to match each.

"How on earth did you manage to get them here?" Stella asked bewildered.

"Let's just say that our friends were happy to give us a hand to plan this evening," he said with a grin.

"Evening, Mac?"

He smiled, his good arm patting her shoulder as her eyes locked with his. "Well, I promised we would be going on Friday, and since we are Friday, and I have only one word..."

Her eyes widened at the sudden realization. "Our dinner, but Mac, you've just been released from the hospital, and you're in no shape to go wandering into a restaurant." She looked at him, his frail body still swaying wearily on his legs. And she could bet seeing the dark bags under his eyes and with the sleeping drugs still in his system that it was going to be a big fight for him to stay awake the whole night. Her eyes glanced at his right arm nestled in the sling.

"I'll be okay," he added, noticing her worried stare towards his arm. "It's healing, remember." He headed for the door. "You got ten minutes," he said with a big grin plastered on his face as he left and closed the door.

She grinned like a kid as she turned toward the dresses neatly set on the bed. She stared at them. Surely, it had been done by Lindsay. She smiled, which meant, Mac had asked her and hadn't been afraid to show his feelings to his teammate to organize their dinner. Her smile widened. He really meant all he had said and done, and somehow she couldn't believe this was really happening. With a trembling hand, her fingers brushed her lips where minutes ago she had felt his burning passion. Her heart beat madly from expectations for this evening. Of course they had decided to take it slow, but after a nice evening and a romantic dinner, then, things could accelerate a bit. She grinned lightly, so she'd better hurry. Ten minutes he had said. Quickly, she undressed and slipped in her black dress. She smiled, she loved that one. She had noticed his sight unable to leave her the first time she had worn it. Although at the time she had pushed him to go out with other women. She hadn't been able to stop but smile from his boyish, amazed grin he had given her when she had entered his office that day. She sighed in content, finally things were looking up for them. He was safe and healing properly and with their dinner date ahead, she knew she was going to enjoy nursing him, now that they had both acknowledged theirs feelings.

_**xxx**_

Slowly, he slumped on his bed and glanced at the dark suit hanged in his closet. He had opted for a black suit hoping to impress her tonight. His eyes closed for a second as he tried to shave off the sleep that hazed his vision. His legs were heavy, and his whole body ached as he had run a marathon. He knew he should take a pill for the pain, but he was already under heavy pain killers and he didn't want to be knocked out for the night with the drugs. No, he wanted to enjoy every second he would have Stella gazing at him and smiling happily.

"Not now," he mumbled, desperate, as he felt a headache blossoming behind his temples.

No, tonight he was keeping his promise, and he was taking her to the nicest restaurant in the city. He smiled knowing she was going to love it. The place was at the top of a building facing central park on one side and the city on the other. The whole floor had a large veranda, allowing every customer to gaze for hours at the enlightened city at their feet.

He smiled and slowly took his sling off. He winced as the pain in his shoulder echoed dully through his flesh. Slowly, he managed to get the sleeve off his wounded arm. Beads of sweat, appeared over his forehead, and he felt a thin, cold, wet line sliding from his hair and to his back. He shivered lightly and pulled the second sleeve out. His breath short, and using only his feet, he kicked off his boots. A small buzz echoed in his head as he untied his belt, and unzipped his jeans. The buzz increased loudly. The doctor's words echoed in his head as he recalled their talk this morning.

_"I'm discharging you only if you don't strain yourself Detective. You're in no condition to move around and stay up for a long__ period of time. But you'll see that if you try, your body will quickly tell you otherwise."_

He had smirked at the doc. He knew himself, and he wasn't about to strain himself too much. It was just a dinner. His hand rubbed his face tiredly, trying to shave off the threatening sleep.

_"No detective, I release you in the express condition you go straight back home and to your bed as soon as you're there. I mean it __Detective. Your body won't allow you to stay up more than a couple of minutes, after that I'm afraid you could just pass out, so you better be in your bed when it happened."_

He winced as he took a deep breath and tried to stand. But his legs buckled under him, and he fell back on the bed, his exhausted body bouncing limply. "Ah," he softly let out._ Just a minute. Just a minute to rest, and then we go to the restaurant. _He thought as he wearily closed his eyes, his hand slowly resting over his bare chest.

_**xxx**_

More than ten minutes had passed as she had taken the time to go in the bathroom and tied her hair up, leaving only a few strands to fall on her bare shoulders and back. She smiled widely at her reflexion and exited the bathroom, hoping to impress Mac. She glanced at her watched and noticed it had taken almost twenty minutes to get prepared. But where was Mac? He was usually too punctual to be late. With a small frown, she went to his door and softly knocked. Her frown deepened as only silence greeted her.

"Mac?" she tried as she slowly opened the door. She peered inside, her cheeks warming at the thought of what she could pick.

But then, her sight stopped at the slumped form over the bed. Her lips tight, she walked slowly to his bed and observed her partner sleeping. His eyes were close and his face relaxed as his lips slowly parted through his small breathing. She noted with delight that he had managed to take off his sweater, his sling gone, leaving his chest bare but with the white dressing covering his wound. With a small smile, she noted that his boots were off too. At least he had managed to get half undressed, she mentally quipped.

With a tender smile, she knew that the dinner was out of question and without a word, she tiptoed out of his room. Quickly, she changed into a pair of sweater and short tank top from her bag and came back into his room. She noticed that he hadn't moved, still laying limply on his bed, his arms sprawled aside. Smiling, she closed the door behind her and walked back to his bed. He was still deeply asleep and didn't seem to notice when she sat beside him and the bed bounced softly. Tenderly, she brushed his messy damp hair. His forehead was hot, but not enough to have a fever she noted with comfort, shaving off her worries. Softly, she stroked his cheek, and called him.

"Mac?" she smiled as his eyes slowly opened and he graced her with a weak smile.

"Fell asleep," he mumbled his eyes blinking to remain open. "Sorry..."

Leaning on her elbow beside him, she tenderly caressed his face, her thumb stroking his temple. "I have a better idea," she said softly as she passed his good arm around her neck. "But I'm gonna need you to help a bit," she said with a grin, her face inches of his. "Need you to push with your legs, okay?"

Still groggy, Mac pushed on his legs and felt his body being gently tugged to his pillow. Soon his head rested over the fluffy square. He let out a tired sigh and looked up to face Stella bent over him. She was smiling shyly, her hair falling from her head and making a private curtain around his head as she leaned closer. Her warm breath caressed his cheek as she pressed her lips against his and kissed him. He moaned softly, delighted by the sweet caress of her lips. His hand slipped over her back, pressing her against him. He felt her finally releasing her stance, her body snuggling over him. Then, she stopped moving and his eyes slowly closed again at the thought that she was with him. He fought to remain awake but sleep was claiming him again. In a confuse state, he was vaguely aware that his pants was removed, a small chill running over his body as a proof he wasn't really dressed anymore except for his boxer. Then, a blanket was laid over him, and a warm body snuggled against his left side. Gently, the same body lifted his chest and two warm arms enveloped him as his back rested against Stella.

"Sorry for the dinner," he mumbled as he snuggled deeper in her arms.

"I'm not," she whispered to his ear, her warm breath caressing his cheek. "Like that I can have you for myself."

"Don' lik' to shar'?" he slurred. His eyes closed as her warmth softly invaded his body, and he was wrapped in a gentle cloud of comfort.

Her chin delicately rested over his damp hair as she deposited a warm kiss. "Not when it's about you."

He grinned weakly as sleep pressed heavily on his weary mind.

"I love you, Mac Taylor," she softly whispered as she felt him drifting toward sleep. Her arms wrapped tightly around his bare chest, enjoying the contact of his soft skin under her fingers. "I love you, Mac," she repeated. She wanted to be sure he would know. Until then, she had never told him, and since he had told her a couple of times already she wanted him to know why she was here, and now. Not just because she cared for him as a friend, but because she wanted to spend the rest of her life with him. And as she felt him relaxed in her arms, safe, she closed her eyes too, knowing that wherever his dreams were taking him this time, she would make sure she would be with him.

_**The End

* * *

**_

**A/N:** Well, I hope you liked it, so don't forget to let me know what you thought of this. Have all a great weekend!

_Journey of the Broken Hearts_ will be updated next week.


End file.
